Perhaps it is because it sounds so melodious: the words trip off the tongue like so many goats, cavorting down a mountainside. (Yes, that metaphor was intentional. Dear reader, do you not like goats dripping down the mountainside of your tongue?)
Perhaps because it is the point of departure for most English speakers, the one new translations need to break out of in order to come into the world.
Or perhaps because I like the process, which gave such honor and dignity to the act and practice of translation, while neither inflating nor deflating the individuals who worked on the project.
For whichever reason, I adore the King James translation, and find it almost as comforting to read as the original, whose words are engraved somewhere deep in my soul, not for any religious reason but because I was exposed to them young, and frequently.