THE EASTERN SHORE 
No dashing surf or booming tide, 
Pounds on the Eastern Shore, 
Yet big ships glide on every side, 
Far from the ocean’s roar. 
For the land lies low on the Eastern Sho’ 
Where the tides of the Chesapeake flow. 
The dogwood blooms at the salt sea’s edge, 
Along its creeks and bays, 
No other strand in all the land 
Has such splendid waiter ways. 
For the land lies low on the Eastern Sho’ 
Where the tides of the Chesapeake flow. 
The pine trees mingle with the seas, 
The wheat fields with the woods. 
Strange to relate no other state 
Is blessed with so many foods. 
For the land lies low on the Eastern Sho’ 
Where the tides of the Chesapeake flow. 
The stranger’s greeted with a smile 
And welcomed with a nod, 
For the folks all know the Eastern Sho’ 
Is direct from the hands of God. 
For the land lies low on the Eastern Sho’ 
Where the tides of the Chesapeake flow. 
—Ernest Hemming 
[2] 
