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Weekly 150

McKenzie

The following is a poem written by David Moore in 1900 about the city of McKenzie

By David Moore circ. 1900
Posted 4/10/19

‘Tis sweet and natural that our mindsRevert to scenes we used to know,The heart so much enjoyment findsRemembering friends of long ago.

Our infancy’s time seems to blessMore than the …

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Weekly 150

McKenzie

The following is a poem written by David Moore in 1900 about the city of McKenzie

Posted

‘Tis sweet and natural that our minds

Revert to scenes we used to know,

The heart so much enjoyment finds

Remembering friends of long ago.

   

Our infancy’s time seems to bless

More than the lives we live at least,

More than half our happiness

Is found in memories of the past.

    

Just how about it ever came

It now may see a little wondrous

But true, the first euphonious name

Of this progressive town was Dundas.

    

McKenzie tho’ it soon was called

After the man owned the land,

Monroe McKenzie who installed

A hotel on the present “stand”.

    

Some grand old men were living here

And noble women blest the town,

Their names are held in memory dear

After each deserves fair honor’s crown.

    

McKenzie, Gilberts, Sneads, and Coles

And Hawkins, Gardners, Fletchers, Pates,

And Irby, Cannons, Gwin, and Nulls

And Ridleys, Mebanes, Moores, and Scates.

    

And Stephens, Harris, Bowdens, Crow

And Jones, Love, Smith, and Muse,

And Covingtons, Quinns, and Elbow

Our fondest memory now reviews.

    

And Brannocks, Hendrix, Plummer, Broaches,

Bohannon, Gibs and McAdoo,

McClintock, Thomas, Glovers, Roaches,

And Wrights and Watts and Hunters too.

    

Dinwiddies, Bakers and Caldwells

And Thurman, Colemans, Manns, LeRoy,

Swearingen, Ethridge and Ezzells

And Charley Chapman, “Son of Joy”.

    

And Green, McLean and Witt and Gaines

And Pope and Lankfords, Fosters, Browns,

McDonalds, Chandlers, Todds and Haynes

And Priest and Keaton helped the town.

    

And Travis, Surbers, Scotts and Bells

And Austin, Johnson, Millers, Kyles,

Clay, Prosser, Osborns and Estelle,

Anchutz and Fowlers fill the files.

    

Here many of their offsprings still

Above the olden haunts reside,

They’ve built a city on the hill

Of the town where their fathers died.

    

These names were each a family head

So vividly we here recall,

They now are numbered with the dead

Yes all, or very nearly all.

    

We’ve not listed everyone

Perhaps, the time has been so long,

And unto these who have not gone

We dedicate this humble song.

    

Some fifty years ago, was burned

The first hotel built here,

And from its flames, ‘Twas said to know

Three souls unto their God returned.

    

This town then had but seven stores

Including Dr. Gwin’s drug store,

The old school hall was used by all

And scarcely was there a need for more.

    

It answered then for church and school

And for the Masonic Hall as well,

Therein were taught the Gold Rule

And how to shun the fires of hell.

    

There Ruben Borrow often came

And preached The Word with zeal and power,

And Abner Cooper of like fame

Enriched and blest full many an hour.

    

The Irbys and Ed Randall there

With skill and grace and patient truth,

The ways of science and life made clear

To many a a happy hopeful youth.

    

From the “Old Hall” down the grove

Have sprung all three of her big schools.

McKenzie hearts will always love

The “Old Hall” and its righteous rules.

    

This old town once was split in twain

And both sides had their faults and greeds.

One faction sought McKenzie’s gain

The other strove for Garland Snead.

    

And this the town divided grew

But not its beset for several years,

‘Til education brought to view

Union is best, as now appears.

    

New Town, trade, churches, schools they pride

How can’st thou fail to grateful be?

Thou’st prospered much on every side

Thou bonny gem of Tennessee

    

Long may thy institution live

And all thy people learn to love,

May they each know how to forgive

And all be blest by Heaven above.

    

Ne’re may thy wealth thy heart make vain

Nor hoarded dollars swell they head,

Be proud only of honest gain

And worthy of thy noble dead.

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