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I am looking out now on the view that I love,
Its the tree-covered green Olrig Hill;
There's nothing I've seen - wherever I've been,
On this day that is sunny and still.

The Laird thought the site was proper and right,
for a mansion wherein he could stay;
So he built his house there and planned it with care,
And thus it still stands to this day.

So, with garden laid out, and woods all about,
With beauty the hill came alive;
there are walks here and there, and plants rich and rare,
And snowdrops each side of the drive.

On the fields in between, so verdant and green,
The cattle contently fee;
And in season the corn shines bright in the morn,
Ere the reapers have gathered the seed,

As our gaze travels down nearer dear Castletown.
We come to the cemetary then;
Not gloomy and grim, but tidy and trim,
Where our loved ones are resting within.

From the ages of yore there is no end of lore,
Like the 'Piper O' Windy Ha',
And in the old kirk where St Strothan did smirk,
When the Deil stuck his head to the Wa'!

From the top of the hill our eyes fest their fill,
On the Parishes, south, east and west;
And north all the way to the fair Dunnet Bay,
Where its beaches are some of the best.

Far away to the North, the wild Pentland firth,
Hurls its waves on the high Orkney coast;
Where the Old man of Hoy, afar, seems a toy,
Standing out from the cliffs like a post.

Though our hill is not high, we still heave a sigh, 
As we leave its soft slopes far behind;
For to us it means "home", and whenever we roam,
'Tis with Olrig our hearts are entwined.

I have lots of friends who call,
I'm very glad to say,
Tho' some are nearest neighbours
Others come from far away;
I trust they all feel welcome
as they often "make my day",
And with me share a cuppa
On my old tin tray.

This tray needs special mention
'Twas a present from a friend,
It wasn't very handsome
But has uses without end;
It stands on legs above knee high
And when I dine alone,
I tuck my legs in underneath
and set my meal thereon.

As I go into other rooms so fine,
With every kind of furnishing
Which can't compare with mine!
they've nests of tables, trolleys,
Coffee "bars" and stools galore,
It makes me think they're real friends
Who enter in my door.

For tho' my little tray may not
have much on it some days,
And touch of class is lacking
No one utters ought but praise!
It seems they haven't noticed,
Or at least, they never say,
That there is anything amiss
With my old tin tray!

And so the moral I would think
Is not to fume and fret,
For al the latest novelties
Whereon your tea to set;
But make the most of every day
And welcome all who call,
The folks worthwhile don't come for style
But friendship, over all.