Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1923-06-16
Nonagenarian Fandango

DR.. L. P. Bowen was read at ban
quet given him in Berlin, on the occa-
sion of the Goth anniversary of his
birthday. The banquet was rendered
to him by Calvin E. Taylor of Berlin,
and was served at the Hotel At
lantic:]
I'm sure that all these Preachers
Are wishing piously
That they'd been born on June the
9Th. In 1888;
And had Nephew and Niece
To give them such a boost as this.
I'm sure that all these Speakers,
Now full as they can hold,
Would gladly share my dignity
Of Ninety Summers old,
And stay in body and in mind
AS frisky as the Undersigned.
I'm sure that all these Kinfolks
Would like it splendidly,
If they could reach four-score- and-ten
With as many friends as l.
With luck to gormandise a bit
With appetites like Uncle Lit.
m certain all CneSe LaOleS
AS sweet as they can be,
Are wishing they were widows,
To flirt and jilt with me,
And have my crazy pen compose
Love Ditties to their cheek and nose.
Pm sure that life's worth living
Through all of Ninety Years,
To reach a climax such as this,
LsoL
And shows along our good old earth
What Love and Friendship still are
worth.
I gladly here bear witness,
AS the voice of Ninety Years,
That our earth has more of sunshine
Than clouds and snags and tears,
And if our goodtimes balk and halt,
It's SIMPLY, sadly our own fault.
I've lived among good people,
North, South and East and West;
I've found Astounding everywhere
The noblest and the best;
Yes, found in every cline I've trod
The friends of man and friends of
Were there no future Heaven,
No crowns at set of sun,
I've been most amply paid for all
I've suffered or have done,
By hearts that made my pathway
bright
Like those pulsating. here tonight.
I'm glad the All-Gracious Ruler
Gave me my humble birth,
Upon our rare old Eastern Shore,
The choicest spot on earth
Her praises there first taught to
On the bonny braes of old Trappe
Greek.
Then Buckingham's loved Temple
Beneath her brooding wings,
l would not trade my Birthright there
For wealth or pride of kings,
Where mid the strains Of Psalm and
Hymn
God dwelt between the Cherubim.
Saints of that old Communion
First prayed me to the Cross,
Then prayed me to the Pulpit too,
The Kingdom and the Cause,
And kept on praying and to bless
And give my life its whole success.
Grand Presbytery of Lewes,
l all that's living now,
They laid their pure ordaining hands
On my unworthy brow.
Where first my mother in these fair
lands
Had laid her own ordaining hands.
Twas back 1864,
The Springtime and in May,
She lived to see her youngest boy
A Preacher-then passed away;
She asked it and in prayer led,
My first beside a dying bed.
A son of our Mackenzie,
His first church was my last
Rehoboth by the Pocomoke,
With her Historic Past
A life of labors in four States,
And seven happy Pastorates.
Six Presbyteries owned and braced me
Sound veterans one and all,
Gods worEmen and the followers
Of Calvin and of Paul;
No nobler souls have passed away
Than man our pulpits of to-day.
They call Gods Church degenerate,
| But l aver to you,
That for one errant Minister,
I've seen five hundred true;
The hereto exists by noise,
Gods power is in the still, small
voice.
I've seen the mighty Gospel
Advance in every cline
This great world moving forward,
And better all the time;
Though Satan's legions have assaulted,
The hosts of He'll have not prevailed.
New York's uncanny Presbytery
May reek with muck and mire,
And aim with crude Modernity
To set the world on fire,
But hundreds of rugged Presbyteries
stand
AS staunch as in Makemieland,
So brave Mackenzie boosted,
With listers ardor nerved,
That from his Scotch Theology
He'd never veered nor swerved;
So too those Churches built by him