The sawmill is closing, sad news indeed, For many a year it supplied a great need,

Times have so changed, new methods and ways, And here I have spent the most of my days.

Forty odd years since I came to the yard, Some days it was easy, some days it was hard, Then,

the horse was the power that motioned the plow, Of motors and tractors, there were only a few.

What a great variety was fashioned out here, An endless run of Husbandry gear,

Ricklifters, carts, wheel-barrows and rakes, Posts, stobs and paling, henhouses and gates.

Well I mind Sanny who worked the big saw, Jock Tamson and Martin, the Wallaces twa,

 And now Mr Andrew has taken the road, Where the weary at last unburden their load.

The Beveridges too, Rab, Geordie and Tarn, And I dinna forget our blacksmith, Auld Sam,

Men who took pride in a job to be done, No shoddy work when they "Held the Gun".

Aye, the sawmill is closing I'm sorry to say, It is finally settled there's no other way,

And as I look back, o'erthe years I've been here, I ken when it's closed, I'll be shedding a tear.