Receive our blog posts in your email by filling out the form at the bottom of this page.
If you have visited, or lived on, the Eastern Shore of Maryland and Virginia before, you may relate to the song of an “exile” who wrote Makemieland Memorials (1910). L.P. Bowen, who was born in Berlin, Maryland (1833), and ministered in Lewes, Delaware and Pocomoke City, Maryland, was noted for his biographical study of Francis Makemie, widely credited as the “Father of American Presbyterianism,” and who did much to confirm where Makemie was buried, and who discovered Makemie’s desk, which now resides at Union Seminary in Richmond, Virginia, was also a poet, as well as a homesick Eastern Shoreman. Bowen’s writings very often reflected his historical interests in early American Presbyterianism and its growth on the Eastern Shore, as well as his love for the land itself. He entered his eternal rest just shy of reaching the 100 years old mark, and his body was laid to rest in Marshall, Missouri, but a commemorative tablet in his hometown reads: “In memory of Rev. L.P. Bowen, D.D., June 5, 1833 - Apr. 8, 1933. A loyal son of Berlin, author, Poet, Historian, Preacher, Finder of Makemie’s grave.”
This statue marks the spot on Holdens Creek, Temperanceville, Virginia where Francis Makemie is buried.
Written in landlocked Missouri, this song resonates with all other “exiles” from the Eastern Shore. Here is “The Exile’s Song” by L.P Bowen.
Old Eastern Shore, dear Eastern Shore,
An exiled son of thine
Sends loyal greetings from afar
And loves to call thee mine
Land of the laurels and the pine,
Land of the spicy fox-grape vine,
Land where the water-lilies twine,
‘Mid maiden’s heart as pure
Fair Eastern Shore, rare Eastern Shore,
My fatherland, my Maryland,
My dreamland and my fairyland,
Delightsome Eastern Shore!Old Eastern Shore, dear Eastern Shore,
The heart is sometimes sad,
And oft leans back to days of yore
A little barefoot lad;
Land of the oyster-banks and shad,
Land of the terrapin and crab,
Land where the welcomes make all glad—
With larders brimming o’er;
Fair Eastern Shore, rare Eastern Shore,
My fatherland, my Maryland,
My dreamland and my fairyland,
Delightsome Eastern ShoreOld Eastern Shore, dear Eastern Shore,
Thy glories I will speak
The Ocean’s sweetheart evermore
The bride of Chesapeake
The beaches and the smiling creek,
The curlew’s song, the osprey’s shriek,
I listen—teardrops course my cheek,
And recollections soar
Fair Eastern Shore, rare Eastern Shore,
My fatherland, my Maryland,
My dreamland and my fairyland,
Delightsome Eastern Shore!Old Eastern Shore, dear Eastern Shore,
Loved by no feeble race
Ancestral blood distilling pure
From far Colonial days
Old Churches where our kinsmen praise,
Old graveyards where tradition strays,
Old homes where in life’s twilight haze
Skies smile with open door;
Fair Eastern Shore, rare Eastern Shore,
My fatherland, my Maryland,
My dreamland and my fairyland,
Delightsome Eastern Shore
Holdens Creek on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.
