Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1922-01-07
RECEPTION;
A la Eastern Shore.
Xmas 1921
Read at the banquet given by Mr.. Richard
f. Hall in honor of John 8. McMaster,
December &c. 1921.

Old Eastern Shore, our Eastern Shore
Will not forget her son;
She's growing now green holly leaves
To wreath them for our John;
The forest trees he loves so well,
The pensive sylvan hooks,
The flowery banks of Pocomoke,
And ever-prattling brooks,
Will not forget the Native-born
Who makes them all his pride,
And claims that never were such
skies
In all the world beside.
He travelled through all neighboring
States,
Sought Europe to explore,
But backward still his heart inclined
To dear old Eastern Shore.
He saw fair maidens here and theSe,
And gallant praises spoke,
But never, nowhere such as grow
Along the Pocomoke.
He saw the feathered flocks elsewhere,
More beautiful than words,
But swore the soaring buzZards here
Excelled all foreign birds.
He thought the foreign Chefs no good,
And even the French were, quacks
Compared with oysters, fish and
clans,
And crabs and diamond-backs.
There never yet has been man
That loved his Country more,
The glories and amenities
Of Mother Eastern Shore.
And he would train our boys and girls
To prize and understand
The beauty and the history
Of fair Newfoundland
The Old Home Prize, the Old Home
Prize,
With inspiration blent,
For souls to grow in Patriotism,
Supreme, beneficent;
That boys and girls of Old Home Land
May treasure their Home-joys,
And Eastern Shore be more and more
Proud of her girls and boys.
Our great Mackenzie wrought and
died,
And left no lincal son,
But still in Presbyterian boys
Mackenzie would live on.
Makemie's Daughter breathed the
balms
Upon her Pitts Creek Pastor,
A link to bind Makemie's Faith
Up with the first McMaster;
We need not wonder our friend,
Of straight McMaster blood,
Should be an Elder in the Church
Of Scotland and of God.
Our only quarrel with our John,
In greeting him to-day,
Is that he has his Home elsewhere
1t does not seem the way,
For Eastern Shores own favorite son
To leave land so fair,
And struggle off to Jersey wilds
And vegitate up there,
And leave his lonesome Piny Woods,
And Pocomoke to mourn,
And leave his buzzards and us all
To yearn for his return.
We trust that he will hurry up,
More big lawsuits to gain,
And gather riches by the ton,
And hasten back again.
How then he'd scatter prizes out
With free and generous hand,
And rouse and beautify our Towns
And waken up the land.
He'd keep the old landmarks intact,
Old Churches in repair,
Protect the fame of Pioneers,
And guard grand trees with care;
He'd keep the Public Spirit up,
On new advancement bent,
Till we would surely first or last
Elect him President.
Did YOU observe him we'll to-day,
His gastronomic power,
And proving by his appetite
Eocta,-o CbOrnpnan curpY
When seeing him load up his plate
And clear it with vim,
We noted that his great big head
Was but a part of him;
We saw that Jersey City folks
Were starving out our John,
Not giving him in that cold cline
Enough to fatten on.
And so good Richard Hall resolved
The Famine's grip to heal,
And see that Johnny should enjoy
At least one more square meal.
Thus on and on the Eastern Shore,
The land of wheat and corn,
Would nurture we'll her favorite son,
One to the Manor born.
Meanwhile we want a score or more
Of Johnny Macs to lead,
And show the world what style
Old Eastern Shore can breed.
o gliding, winding Pocomoke,
Well may thy stream rejoice
For noble models that survive
For Worcester's girls and boys.
WORRIED
HHRgWEr%