lAi

Soil i*'!''.' li ft""?*' ¦ « ^ - "''
-rii(» j>K ,¦ "V ¦»¦ - ^^ >''•• 'Ai- — j^—-,.

3 9002 06445 8392

I «, I, -^^^J, 1 >-' - « ', >

Woloott, 3.
Address at the Consearation of Rock Hill
Cemetery.
1853.

¦ ;.. - V--,.

^ m m mm^W'

DELIVERED AT

THE CONSECRATION
OF'
ROOK HILL CEMETERY

ON

TiiKSDAY, orTOBi-:r; i. isr-s.

SAMUEL WOLCOTT.

ADDRESS

DELIVERED AT

THE CONSECRATION

OP

Motk iSill €tmtttt$,

IN

iDvii^illBViV \i^ \Sili!.J4,2

/A\

ON

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 4th, 1853,

By Rev. SAMUEI. WOLCOTT,
OF PKOVIDENCB, E. I.

PROVIDENCE:
M. B. YOUNG & COMPANY, PRINTERS,
4 Union Buildings.
1853.

ChZ^.^13

FoxBOEOUGH, Oct. 13th, 1853,
REV. SAMUEL WOLCOTT,
ProvideTice, R. I.
Dear Sir : At a meeting- of the Foxboro' Cemetery
CoRPOEATiON, held at Cocasset House, Tuesday, Oct. llth, 1853, it was
Ordered, That the thanks of the Corporation be presented to the Rey.
Samuel Wolcott, for his able and appropriate Address, delivered at the Cqn-
secration of Rock Hill Cemetery, Tuesday, Oct. 4th, 1853, and that he bp
respectfully requested to furnish a copy of the same for pubhcation.
By order of the Trustees,
R. W. KERR, Clerk,

ADDRESS

The occasion which has assembled us, respected friends,
is one of solemn and tender interest, deriving ils impres
siveness both from the nature of the service, and from its
infrequent occurrence It has never before been witnessed
in this village, and will not probably be repeated here for
many generations, and perhaps not forever. This day,
this passing hour, will retain in your memories, and
in the annals of the place, its distinctive character —
the mark of that special solemnity to which it has now
introduced us, and which has caused a suspension to bu
siness and to pleasure, and drawn to this scene the aged
and the young.
Your revered ancestors sleep in death. The founders
of this village, the early settlers of this town, have gone
to their rest ; many of your own generation have pre
ceded you to the tomb. They lie in the several places of
burial within your borders, and their number already ex
ceeds the census of the living. In making further provi-
vion for the dead, you have manifested a thoughtful re
gard for the generations which are to succeed you. As a
resting-place not alone for the families now resident here,
but for those also whose lot may fall to them amid this
pleasant scenery in coming time, have these ample grounds

been purchased and arranged, and are now to be consecra
ted. By a generous outlay, regulated by a sound judg
ment, combined with a taste which pleases the eye of
every beholder, you have entitled yourselves to the grate^
ful regards of those who are to come after you. Having
thus honorably fulfilled the demands of the present, and
anticipated those of future generations, in a relation so sa
cred, you have secured to yourselves this rare and touching
observance ; and it is proper that you should now surren
der yourselves to its solemn and subduing associations.
The feehng which prompts us to provide a suitable
burial-place for the dead, is a sacred instinct or sentiment,
deeply implanted in our nature by the Creator. It belongs
to us as social and rational beings, the heirs of immortal
ity ; and in all ages, even among the rudest tribes, it has
developed itself in forms of moral beauty. It was conspi
cuous among the honored customs of the world's early
patriarchs. For the liberal expenditure by which this
goodly and shaded enclosure has been devoted to its pur
pose, you have a sanction, my friends, in the oldest his
tory extant, and in the example of him who bore the exalt
ed title of " Friend of God." When, after a sojourn of
sixty years in Canaan, he was bereaved of the companion
of his pilgrimage, we read that 'Abraham came to mourn
for Sarah, and to weep for her. And Abraham stood up
from before his dead, and spake unto the sons of Heth,
saying, I am a stranger and a sojourner with you ; give me
a possession of a burying-place with you, that I may bury
my dead out of my sight.' His proposal met with a re
sponse which must have been comforting to him in his
affliction ; they offered him, in token of their respect and
sympathy, the free use of their own sepulchres. But he

preferred to obtain possession of a cemetery, which would
belong to his descendants, and where the sacred remains
which he was about to intrust to it, would be safe iu future
years ; and the desired spot was accordingly purchased,
at a fair price. ' A nd the field of Ephron, which was in
Machpelah, which waS before Mamre, the field and the
cave which was therein, and all the trees that were mi the
field, that were in all the borders round, about, were made
sure unto Abiaham for a possession, in the presence of the
children of Heth, before all that went in at the gate of his
city. And after this, Abraham buried Sarah, his wife, in
the cave of the field of Machpelah before Mamre ; the
same is Hebron, in the land of Canaan.' The place was
ever kept for its appropriate use. Nearly two centuries
later, the patriarch Jacob, dying in Egypt, could not be
buried there, but charged his sons, 'Bury me with my
fathers, in the cave that is in the field of Machpelah, which
is before Mamre, in the land of Canaan, which Abraham
bought with the field of Ephron the Hittite, for a possession
of a burying-place. There they buried Abraham and
Sarah his wife ; there they buried Isaac and Rebecca his
wife, and there I buried Leah.' And there, adjacent to the
plain where Abraham had pitched his tent and entertained
the angels, in a spot still identified and preserved, " the
patriarchs rest" unto this day. The beloved Rachel, who
did not share their burial, because not spared to reach the
place on her way frOtn Padan-Aram, ' was buried in the
way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem. And Jacob set a
pillar upon her grave ; that is the pillar of Rachel's
grave unto this day.' And to this day, the traveler who
passes between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, pauses with
sensibility by the grave, still designated, of this woman,

8
And her first-born son, whose 'bow abode in strength,'
and on whose head ' rested the blessings of the Mighty
God of Jacob,' is honored in his death, as in his life, with
a grateful remembrance. ' By faith, Joseph, when he
died, made mention of the departing of the children of
Israel, and gave commandment concerning his bones.'
They wore not forgotten in the haste of leaving Egypt by
night, and were carefully kept by Moses during the
wanderings in the wilderness ; they were carried by
Joshua into the heart of the country, and deposited in a
sepulchre near the base of Mount Gerizim, in the parcel of
ground which Jacob had given to Joseph as a portion
above his brethren. The spot has been held in equal
regard, as the sepulchre of a prophet, by Jews, Christians,
and Muslims ; and there the remains of this honored
servant of God have slept undisturbed by the storms of
more than three thousand years. The eye of the Saviour,
as he talked with the woman of Samaria at the well,
rested upon this tomb ; its white modern dome now attracts
the eye of the traveler from a distance, as he crosses the
contiguous plain ; and for ages to come, to the end of
time, this mute memorial shall speak to the heart of the
observer who passes that way, silently uttering its im
pressive lessons of filial fidelity, of fraternal affection, and
of providential goodness.
The earliest and purest examples on record, my friends,
thus confirm the suggestions of your own hearts, and
countenance the undertaking which you happily consum
mate to-day — the selection and consecration of a permanent
burial-place, which will always be respected as the home
of the dead, and where the living may perpetuate, by
monumental tablets, the memories of departed friends.

An ancient eastern benediction, which has waked an
echo in every age and clime, is expressed in the words,
" May you die among your kindred !" The dissolution
of ' the earthly house of our tabernacle ' is formidable to
every natural feeling, and we shrink instinctively from
the dread process. It is an alleviation which we naturally
crave, that it may please the sovereign Disposer of all
events, to grant us individually a tranquil death, in the
bosom of an endeared home, surrounded with the sympa
thies of the family, and soothed by the ministries of
affection. " On some fond breast the parting soul relies ;
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ;
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries;
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.''
We naturally, also, wish our ashes to rest with kindred
dust ; pleasant is the anticipation of being joined in burial
with those with whom we have been united in life by
sweet and sacred bonds. And this desire and hope have
doubtless, my friends, operated as an incentive to your
own efforts, in the steps which you have taken with
reference to this spot.
And what lessons shall we receive from this scene?
What impressions shall we bear away from this ceremony?
It is no lively pageant which has called us together;
neither is the service invested with gloom. If we properly
estimate the occasion, sacred and rare, it will impress our
minds with a calm seriousness, and with earnest, though
cheerful views of life and its responsibilities and duties.
We have come hither to-day in lengthened procession ;
but not with badges of mourning, nor with the bier of the
dead. Your Band have led us through the streets of the

10
village and the avenues of the cemetery with solemn and
soul-stirring strains ; but not with mufiied drum, nor with
funereal dirges. Beneath the arches of this grove, God's
own temple, your Choir have lifted to Heaven thegloiious
anthem; but they chant to-day no requiem for the
departed. And yet the moral effect of all the funeral
trains which are destined to find their way to this hal
lowed retreat, in coming years, seems to be concentrated
on this hour. So far as the moral influence of (he occasion
may depend on these remarks, I desire that it may be
associated in your minds with sentiments and feelings,
which you may pleasantly and profitably recall in your
future visits to this spot ; especially when impelled hither
by the promptings of bereaved affection, such as were
ascribed to the disconsolate sister of Lazarus in the
remark, ' she goeth to the grave to weep there.' I also
desire that it may be connected with thoughts and purpo
ses, which, with God's blessing, may assist you at the
appointed hour to lie down to your own rest here,
 " sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust."
Viewed in this light, the lessons, whether of instruction or
of consolation, obviously commended to us, are those with
which we are the most familiar, but which cannot be
slighted at such a moment as this, inasmuch as they are
also the most important and urgent.
' I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the
house appointed for all living.' Such was the confession
of an eastern pilgrim and patriarch, uttered more than
thirty centuries ago. He died and was laid in his grave,
and the places of his birth and sepulture are alike un-

11
known. But the truth which he uttered in ils individual
application, remains a universal law of humanity. The
celestial bodies on which he gazed, as we now do — the
sun, the moon, and the constellations, ' Arcturus, Orion,
and Pleiades,' on which he wrote their present names —
still hang in the firmament, and hold on their course.
Beneath their light, the unnumbered hosts of a hundred
generations have since his day marched on, with a steady
tramp, to their final halting-place ; till
 " all that tread
The gl6be are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom."
And countless generations more may follow in our steps,
when we and ours shall have been swept away, and ages
of oblivion shall have rolled over us. But to each one of
the living, in every age, this truth remains, " I know that
thou wilt bring me to death and the grave." All else in our
future experience is to us unknown and doubtful ; this
one fact is indubitably certain. Count the persons congre
gated here to-day, and you will count as many funeral
processions, now visible to the eye of God, winding from
their respective dwellings. The Macedonian monarch,
who made it the daily oflace of one of his attendants to
repeat in his ear the sentence, "Philip, remember that
thou art mortal!" must have been, like too many others, a
thoughtless observer of the world around him, to have
needed such a mentor. We read this truth in our own
frames, and discover, at every step, fresh mementos of it.
As I look over this large assembly, and then upward to the
overspreading branches, with their pendent leaves, now
waving in the sunlight, but already touched by the frost,
and soon to wither and fall to the earth, I am met with an

12
affecting emblem of our mortal destiny. ' We all do fade
as a leaf The chilling blasts of life's autumn will lay us
as low as they ; and thus are the voices of nature perpet
ually calling to us and proclaiming our mortality. ' Man
cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down.'
We are reminded of the brevity of life, as well as of its
certain and often sudden termination. ' Our days are
swifter than a weaver's shuttle ; swifter than a post they
flee away ; they are passed away as the swift ships ; as
the eagle that hasteth to the prey.' We are floating on
the current, like the bubbles on the bosom of a rapid
stream, glittering for an instant in the sunbeams, and
successively vanishing forever. ' Man dieth and wasteth
away ; yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he ?'
It Was a striking observation of an aged monk, who had
passed a long life in the cloisters of a convent, and seen its
inmates constantly changing, pointing to the old portraits
that had hung for generations on the walls, " I often think
that they are the real occupants, the living dwellers here,
and that we are but paintings, semblances and shadows."
' Our days on earth are as a shadow, and there is none
abiding ; our age is as nothing before God ; verily every
man at his best state is altogether vanity.' The young,
the strong, and the robust, as well as the feeble and aged,
are passing away by death, and there is no hour which is
not free to his visitation.
" Leaves have their time to fall.
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set — but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death."
I have seen a maiden decked with garlands, in the flush
and pomp of health and beauty, the pride of an admiring

13
circle ; and before the fresh flowers had withered, the
bloom of life had faded from her cheek, her elegant attire
was exchanged for the snowy shroud, and the chaplet
which had circled and graced her brow was a wreath for
her tomb.
No lesson is more impressively taught us here, than the
emptiness of earthly things. Amid the cares and agitations
of a brief existence, we are forcibly reminded of the inevi
table end of all sublunary schemes and enterprises.
Historians have recorded of the renowned Saracen chieftain,
that, when he lay dying in his capital, he gave orders that
upon his decease his shroud should be borne on a soldier's
spear through the streets of Damascus, preceded by a
herald, proclaiming with a loud voice, " This is all that
remains of Saladin, the mighty Conqueror of the East ! "
No incident could more vividly illustrate the inspired
declaration, ' we brought nothing into this world, and it
is certain we can carry nothing out.' Our principles, our
characters, are our only abiding possession. With this
truth, permit me to say, I was most deeply impressed, as
others have been, on an afternoon which I once passed in
the mausoleum of Britain's departed monarchs and nobles,
her heroes and worthies — Westminster Abbey. In that
inclosure were garnered the mortal remains of an empire's
genius, greatness and glory, and their marble effigies stood
clustered there in impressive muteness. I wandered
among those silent monuments ; I stood upon the dust of
kings, who had lorded it over prostrate realms, whose
ambition had convulsed a continent, and almost started
the " fast-anchored isle " from her moorings ; of poets,
who had " woke to ecstacy the living lyre " ; of statesmen
and orators, who had thundered in the halls of legislation ;

14
of warriors, who had made the " meteor flag " burn terrific
on the deep and on the land. What now to them were
crowns and sceptres, coronets, titles, and banners ; the
achievements of eloquence and song ; the exploits of
science and valor ? Here were compressed into " hand
fuls of earth " all that had survived, save the immaterial
and spiritual ; and I lingered in profitable musings on the
vanity of earthly renown, until the heavy organ pealed
the notes of a solemn chant through the cloistered reces
ses, bearing my thoughts forward to the time, when all
the stately structures which were standing in queenly
beauty around me,
" The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself
Yea, all which doth it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."
We may gather lessons, equally affecting, of the insta
bility of earth and the value of a steadfast hope of heaven
alone, from humbler cemeteries, and sincerer if ruder
memorials. I have spent the twilight hour as solemnly
and profitably in the village church-yard of New-England,
Avhere the early shepherds repose, ' each in his own house,*
and where by their sides the keeper hath made their
flocks to rest, noon and night ; — in those silent, sepul
chral chambers, the breastworks of society all leveled,
its passions all hushed, 'joined with ihem in burial,' and
awaiting an associated rising in the morning of the resur
rection. The voices of nature and of revelation are rehearsing in
concert the theme of our mortality, and as you tread upon
this earth to-day, my friends, you are reminded of " the

15
long repose " which you are soon to take in its Ijpsom.
But the occasion also offers to our meditations another
and a glorious truth, proclaimed with equal authority and
emphasis, and appealing to our strongest sympathies and
hopes : —
" Man, thou shalt never die ! Celestial voices
Hymn it unto our souls ; according harps,
By angel fingers touched when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great Immortality ;
Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain,
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas.
Join in this solemn, universal song.
O listen ye, our spirits, drink it in
Prom all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ;
'Tis floating mid day's setting glories. Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears j
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living hand, and conscious chords
Q,uiver with joy in this great jubilee.
The dying hear it ; and as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony."
The longings of the soul for immortality, its quenchless
aspirations, have in all ages forced upon mankind the
conviction, or at least the surmise, that it was a deathless
principle — would survive the wreck of matter, and live on
forever. But the doctrine of the resurrection of the body
— a truth inseparable from it in our cherished regards —
though eagerly welcomed by the mind when suggested,
is not a dictate of nature, but purely the teaching of
revelation. ' For this corruptible must put on incorruption,
and this mortal must put on immortality.' The ancient

16
philosophers, in all their researches, never discovered this
truth. Their faint glimpses of a higher and brighter
sphere, in which the spirit might expatiate when released
from the body, threw no light on the destiny of the entire
man, and did not relieve the darkness of the sepulchre.
Their ideas, vague and conjectural at the best, embraced
the soul alone, and it never once occurred to them that its
material companion could aspire to an ethereal dignity and
the honors of immortality. The analogies of nature.
forcible as they may seem to us, now that we are familiar
with the truth, never suggested it to them. They had
seen the seed fall upon the earth, and the green grain wave
over its decay. They had seen the reptile throw off its
exuviae, and float in beauty on the air. But in these and
the like instances, they saw but the successive stages of
one economy, whose processes were constant, and visible,
and soon completed ; and it were quite beyond the reach
of the mind unaided, to found on such analogy any con
nection between the present dispensation and a future, or
even to conjecture, that in the dust committed to dust
there exist rudiments which shall hereafter germinate
and bloom in Paradise.
It was a favorite theory with the ancient Gnostics, that
matter was the source of all evil, and they accordingly
treated it with disdain. In the spirit, perhaps, of that
philosophy, the body, as material, is sometimes spoken of
by way of contrast and disparagement, in terms which
seem to me neither scriptural nor rational. Man, we must
remember, is a compound being, consisting of soul and
body. He differs from the animal creation, in that he
possesses a spiritual subsistence, unquenchable and un
conquerable. He differs from the pure spirits, in that this

17
ethereal principle is clothed with a bodily form. He is
human, and not angelic ; he is human, and not brutish. —
The immaterial part survives, intelligent and active,
though under what conditions we know not, when the
material part is dissolved. But soul and body united con
stitute the human person ; and by insuring their re-union,
after separation by death, the Saviour ' hath brought life
and immortality to light.'
And while we are allowed the rich consolation of know
ing that for the justified to be ' absent from the body ' is to
be ' present with the Lord,' is to be ' in Paradise,' still I can
not but think the anticipation of being re-united with her
earthly companion a joyful one to the spirit in her separate
state. " Does she there no fond emotion,
Naught of earthly love retain ?
Or, absorbed in pure devotion.
Does no mortal trace remain ?
Can the grave those ties dissever.
With the very heart-strings twined 1
Must she part, and part forever.
With the friend she leaves behind ?
No ! the past she still remembers ;
Faith and hope surviving too.
Ever watch those sleeping embers.
Which must rise and live anew ;
For the widowed, lonely spirit
Waits till she be clothed afresh ;
Longs perfection to inherit,
And to triumph in the flesh."
' Not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon ;'
not that we desire a state of pure incorporeity, but would
gladly exchange the natural for the spiritual body.
3

18
I have said that this material organization is a constitu
ent part and element of the individual man. And where,
. but in the invisible structure of the soul itself, do you rec
ognize such proofs of the handy- work of God ? Are
we not 'fearfully and wonderfully made?' Whatever of
dignity you attach to the spirit is shared by the body. —
This is the inlet of every sensation which thrills it ; it is
the outlet of all the emotions and sympathies which per
vade it. It is the channel of its feelings, its organ of
communication with the world in which it dwells. I
look upon one whose orb of vision is sightless ; and with
a heart alive to the beauties of nature, I see the glories of
the landscape and the firmament spread around him with
out awakening an emotion, because of a single defect in
the material structure. I look upon one whose sense of
hearing has been extinguished ; and with a soul of mel
ody and song, the music of creation falls on his ear un
heeded, because of a minute derangement of the corporeal
system. And I learn something of the exqiiisite finish
and high value of the framework which incases the spirit.
I have said that the doctrine of the resurrection is to us
a most welcome truth. Strange and sad it would be, if
this elaborate and beautiful mechanism, this master-piece
of the Divine Architect, were thus moulded and wrought,
to be finally shattered, and disfigured, and cast off as
worthless ; that the tender plant of humanity, which has
faded in its blossom, should have au existence as transient
as the flower of the field, which lifts itself into momentary
sunshine, and is swept away by the wind ; that the form
which had ripened into grace and loveliness, and around
which the warm affections of the heart had clustered,
should fall beneath the shaft of the destroyer, with no

19
higher destiny than the clod of the valley ; that the del
icate instrument of the soul, which had sent forth its
tones like a harp, must be crushed and mute forever. To
save us frora such a doom, blessed be God ! the Redeemer
' was delivered for our offenses, and was raised again for
our justification. For if we believe that Jesus died and
rose again, even so them also who sleep in Jesus will God
bring wilh him.' With such a home for the believing
spirit, and such a pledge for the dying body— rest for the
former in the bosom of Jesus, and the final recovery of
the latter from the dishonors of corruption — we can cheer
fully commend the one ' to God who gave it,' and calmly
commit the other 'to the earth as it was;' knowing that
' that which is sown is not quickened except it die ;' that
this is a necessary stage towards its consummation and
perfection ; and that " beauty immortal shall awake from
the tomb."
The familiar truths just glanced at, which are forced
upon our reflections by this solemnity, and have demanded
this passing reference — the universality of death, the
brevity of life, the vanity of the world, the immortality of
the soul and the resurrection of the body — are doctrines of
vital import, involving earnest practical duties. No occa
sion, no gathering, could enforce with more power and
pathos than this, the exhortation of the wise Preacher,
' Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might ;
for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wis
dom, in the grave, whither thou goest.' The grave speaks
a language which needs no interpreter to the living, and
yet how insensible are we to its monitory voice ! I was
ttnce called to perform the burial-service at sea ; and when
the body was consigned to the deep, and the waves closed

20
over it, I was impressed by observing how quickly aftfer
the plunge all was again composed,
" And the sea rolled on, as it rolled before."
And I thought it but a striking emblem of death, wher
ever it occurs, on the ocean or on the land. It makes but
a transient ripple on the surface of the heaving tide of
human existence. Except in cases of intimate relation
ship and dependence, the death of any one of us will not
interrupt the daily plans and pursuits of the others. To
the survivors, life will " roll on as it rolled before," until
each in turn is called to follow. But if we heed the les
sons suggested, the event, if it does not turn us from our
usual avocations, will invaiiably send us to them with
higher purposes and better feelings. We shall return
successively, those of us that are spared, from the grave
of the one freshly fallen, with a more earnest desire, in the
cultivation of our own hearts, and the discharge of our
duties to the living, to fulfil the high behests of Heaven.
Each departing friend will be to us an angel of mercy ;
and every new instance of mortality, as a memento of our
own, will repeat to us, with the power of a personal appeal,
the injunction, ' Therefore, be ye also ready ; for in such
an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh. ' Be ye ,
ready,' my friends, and God's messenger will wear to you
no frowning aspect. ' Be ye ready,' and the summons
shall be welcome ; whether sent ' at even, or at midnight,
or in the morning,' whether attended with lingering pain,
or sudden as the flash of heaven's bolt, it will be welcome;
for death will be robbed of its ' sting,' and the grave stripped
of its ' victory '—yielding back its tenant at the appointed
time, quickened to life indued with immortality, radiant
with glory.

21
With faith and hope in Him who, amid the ravages of
the grave, proclaimed himself ' the resurrection and the
life,' and who in his .own person vanquished the destroyer
and ' abolished death,' we will unite in the solemn prayer
of Consecration, which devotes this ground forever to its
selected and sacred use. And may we, who have now
met in the cemetery appropriated to the dead, meet here
after in the mansions prepared for the blessed ! We meet
to-day, my friends, as fellow-pilgrims in the wilderness.
Before us is the Jordan of death, and beyond it is the Land
of Promise, where the Israel of God shall rest from their
wanderings ; whose green palms are ever waving in beau
ty ; where the Rose of Sharon unfolds its loveliness and
exhales its fragrance, and the tabernacle of Shiloh abi-
deth forever. No funeral procession ever moveth among
its immortal abodes ; no mournful knell, no note of wailing
anguish or sobbing grief, is ever heard amid its glad caden
ces ; like the ' pure river of water of life,' with sweet and
ceaseless murmur, ever glideth its blessed tranquillity.
May God grant unto us, each one, an entrance into the
Heavenly Canaan ! As one after another, he shall ' change
our countenances and send us away,' may we meet again
on the celestial mount, in the likeness of our glorified
Redeemer, with the robes of victory and the harps of
praise !

(DmJI©]IMA]L M¥11H

BT MES. M. H. SHEEMAN, OF FOXBOEO'.

Father, humbly in thy presence,
Gathered 'neath the sylvan shade,
Let us bring the soul's oblation,
Let our hearts on Thee be stayed ;
Here, in nature's beauteous temple,
We would consecrate this ground ;
To thy glory, God of Heaven,
Let our notes of praise resound.
Blessings on our efforts pour,
Father, guide us evermore.
Sacred spot of rural beauty,
Mourners feel thy soothing power
As they thread thy quiet pathways.
At the evening's twilight hour ;
Rock and dell and leaflet gleaming
In the sunlight of the wave,
Floral wreaths, of nature's weaving.
Circle round the hallowed grave.
Blessings on our efforts pour,
Father, guide us evermore.
Woodland songsters softly carol
Forth their notes of praise and love,
While the mourning mother wanders^
Through the cypress-shaded grove ;
Thither, 'neath these branches waving,
Orphaned hearts will oft repair.
Holding sweet commune with nature,
Breathing forth the fervent prayer.
Blessings on their young hearts pour.
Father, guide them evermore.
Autumn's varied hues are changing,
Leaves are falling, one by one.
Thus our earthly friends are gathered^
In the quiet of the tomb ;
When our fleeting days are ended,
To the spirit-land we soar,
There our ransomed souls shall dwell, in
Vernal beauty evermore.
To those loved ones gone before.
Father, guide us evermore.

-WW ¦

. J-,^T»V f .

fi;^f

., '^V'^'"i~'
v::/'^;?'" *i't="vr :^:'W¥>';v '-'H,' -v:,3.je'u ¦-.''
>..*'?', -I