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RESPECT FOR THE BEMAINS OF THE DEAD.

AN

ADDRESS

DBLIVEBED AT THB

CONSECRATION OF OAK HILL CEMETEEY.

IN NE V^r B UR YP O RT,

JtfliT ai, 1848.

BY JONATHAN P. STEARNS,
PASTOB OF THB PIBST P E E S B T T E B I A N CHURCH,

|)nbUsl)eb[ bg Eexjuest.

NEWBURYPORT:
PUBLISHED BY A. AUGUSTUS CALL.
' 1842.

ADDRESS.

Respect for the remains of the dead is among the
most natural and universal human sentiments. It
discovers itself in all countries and climes, among
the votaries of all forms of religion, and amidst every
degree of knowledge and civilization.
Philosophy, which is too often but another name for
the dominion of mere intellect to the degradation of
the finer sensibilities, and whose conclusions, founded
on a part only of the facts in man's nature, not unfre-
quently fall short of the truth, may affect to regard it as
a weakness, to respect or love the mere remnants of
the vestment which the soul used to wear. Human
nature, however, speaks the opposite, and will ever do
so, till the heart ceases to be a part of our constitution,
and cold intellect makes up the whole sum of humanity.
On recurring to the history of our race, we are at
no loss to find facts on this subject. From the massive
pyramid, the curious labyrinth, the spacious catacomb,
the beautiful mausoleum,, and the bulky mound, to the
simple flower-border and head-stone, which in some
village grave-yard marks the spot where an infant's

4
dust rests, there are monuments, encompassing the
world, which bear witness to the existence of this sen
timent. Ancient sepulchres may be found in all an
cient countries. They abound throughout Europe and
Asia, are crowded thick in some portions of Africa, and
are scattered every where over both divisions of the
American continent. Some of these are supposed to
be older than the pyramids.
Their houses, the ancients sometimes called inns, and
thought little of durability in their construction ; but
their sepulchres, they called " eternal habitations," and
constructed these of materials so durable, that it is
likely, some of them will remain to be demohshed by
the great convulsion which is to annihilate the grave.
We see the strength of the principle in question,
from the importance which has been attached, in all
ages, to a decent and honorable burial. The cave of
Machpelah has perished, and the bones of Abraham
and Sarah have long ceased to be distinguishable from
the common earth with which they have mingled ; but
the story of that purchased possession, recorded on the
most enduring of pages, shows how strongly this senti
ment burned in the breast of the noblest of the patri
archs. It was, with Abraham, an object of special
solicitude, that he might secure to himself tlie posses
sion of a burying-place.
Among the Egyptians, a tribunal of forty-two judges
sat in judgment on the character and life of the de
ceased, before the body, even though it were tliat of a
king, could be allowed to receive an honorable sepul
ture. The Greeks and Romans denied sepulchral

honors as a punishment to the worst of criminals, but
esteemed it an unpardonable inhumanity to refuse them
to a mere personal enemy. It was with them the great
est of all imprecations, that a person might die destitute
of burial. No calamity or disgrace was more dreaded.
The existence of a similar dread is discoverable in
all parts of the sacred Scriptures. It was the crowning
circumstance in the curse of Heaven upon Jezebel :
" The dogs shall eat Jezebel in the portion of Jezreel."
. The famous giant of Gath and his youthful antagonist,
both discover in their encounter the same feeling.
" Come unto me," cries the one tauntingly, " and I
will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air and the beasts
of the field ; " and the other answers, " I will give the
carcasses of the host of the Philistines to the fowls of
the air and to the wild beasts of the earth." It meets
us forcibly in the curse upon Jehoiachim : " He shall
be buried with the burial of an ass ; " " his dead body
shall be cast out, in the day to the heat, and in the night
to the frost." And with still greater sublimity, in the
prophetic description of the fall of the tyrant of Baby
lon : " All the kings of the earth, even all of them, lie
in glory, every one in his own house ; but thou art cast
out of thy grave hke an abominable branch, and as the
raiment of them that are slain : — as a carcass trodden
under feet."
Nor has the dread of this dishonor yet ceased. The
rancor of bigotry has appealed to it, and angry zealots
have " Denied the charity of dust to spread
O'er dust, a charity their dogs enjoy."

Political rancor has appealed to it, and the bones of
kings even, and those who had long slept, have been
disinterred and scattered to the waters and the winds.
Hence the strong desire, which many have mani
fested, to secure to themselves an honorable burial.
A famous warrior of the middle ages, to protect his re
mains from violation, is said to have directed his fol
lowers to turn aside the current of a river, and deposit
his body in its bed. Estates have sometimes been be
queathed with this condition, that the rites of burial
should be duly performed by the heir. Even the in
fidel Voltaire could profess faith, that his bones might
be allowed to rest peacefully in consecrated ground.
Nor would any of us, however we might reason, regard
without horror the idea, that our own remains should
be treated with indignity.
The same sentiment is further illustrated by the fu
neral solemnities of different nations. AVhat nation has
not funeral solemnities ? Who buries the dead witiiout
ceremonies ?
To our own ears, the knell has become familiar.
The pall, the shroud, tlie hearse, the dark-robed train
of mourners, and the funeral prayer, ai-e with us ob
jects of constant observation. And who would not be
considered a barbarian, should he venture to omit these
observances ? The labored arguments of convenience
and economy, in an age distinguished for its devotion
to utility, have proved powerless to eradicate even the
single custom of wearing mourning garments in the
time of bereavement. It is now more tiian a tiiousand
years since Augustine declared the wearing of black at

funerals a heathenish custom. Yet we wear black ; and
I doubt not we shall continue to do so, till some other
color, equally expressive and distinguishing, shall be
thought better adapted to the same purpose. The heart
refuses to submit to the claims of interest, or to be gov
erned by the most plausible theories, in a matter so
exclusively its own.
The same is true of all periods and countries. It
moves our sympathies, at the distance of remote ages,
but to read the details of those ceremonies, with which
ancient -reverence and affection laid to rest the re
mains of the dead.
Transfer yourselves to classical antiquity. A wail
ing sound, wild and tumultuous, attracts your atten
tion to some neighboring mansion, and a knot of hair
or a cypress branch over the door, with a vase of water
standing by its side, apprises you that death is within.
The nearest relative has caught with his own lips the
expiring breath, and closed with his own hands the
eyes of the deceased. They have bathed the body, and
anointed it with ointment. They have extended the
hmbs on a bier, thrown over it a white cloth of linen,
woven beforehand perhaps for the express purpose
by the hand of affection, and covered all with garlands
of flowers. Perhaps their own flowing tresses of hair,
cut off as a sign of their grief, are scattered and inter
twined with the flowers. The bier itself is covered
with flowers. It is laid out in the door-way of its for
mer habitation, and there they watch over it, day after
day, waihng bitterly and performing various solemni
ties. At length they carry it on men's shoulders to the

£Tave

If a young man, the morning twilight is chosen
for this purpose, because the cheerful sun must not
look upon an object so sad. It is deposited. And now
the parting salutation, thrice repeated, as they cast
upon it three handfuls of earth : " FareweU ! farewell !
farewell ! for ever farewell ! " " May the earth rest
lightly upon thee!" "We ourselves, as the course
of nature shall permit, shall all follow thee."
All these offices were performed by near relatives.
To have left any of them to strangers, would have been
thought an unpardonable indignity or unkindness to
the sacred clay. It was a matter of great scandal in a
Roman Emperor, that he did not lay out with his own
hands the remains of a departed wife. When the body
was burned, as at some periods, the ashes, quenched
with wine and bathed with tears, were sometimes gath
ered up into the bosom of a mother, or other very
near female relative, to be dried and prepared for the
urn. The ancient Hebrews were a sterner race, and their
observances, of course, were less picturesque. But
they were by no means less appropriate or expressive.
Customs, similar in their import, prevail hkewise
among the distant and isolated Chinese, among the
barbarous inhabitants of Africa, among tlie islanders
of different oceans, and the savage aborigines of
America. Nor are the forms practiced at funerals the only
ones, by which the sentiment in question is exhibited.
The tomb has always been, witii idolaters, an altar,
and with others, a place of frequent resort, and the

scene of affecting observances. The Turkish women,
it is said, repair regularly before sunrise, on Friday,
which is the sacred day with all the Mohammedans, to
the graves of their deceased friends, to sprinkle water
upon tiiem and adorn them with flowers. The women
of Egypt go, at least twice in a week, to pray and weep
at the tombs of their friends, scattering palm-leaves and
sweet herbs on their monuments. In China, on the fifth
day of April, the whole population, says a certain writer,
may be seen trooping out in parties to the hills, to adorn
and sweep the tombs and make offerings ; leaving be
hind them long streamers of red and white paper, to
mark the fulfilment of their rites. Whole ranges of hills,
sprinkled with tombs, may at that season ofthe year be
seen, covered with these testimonies to the departed,
fluttering in the wind and sunshine. The Greeks and
Romans, at stated seasons of the year, offered sacrifices
in honor ofthe dead, and decked their tombs with gar
lands. It has been supposed that the annual mourning
ofthe Jewish maids for the daughter of Jephthah was an
instance of a similar custom.
It shows the deep hold of the sentiment in question
on the human mind, that the performance of due rites
to the dead has taken, every where, the high character
of an imperious duty. With the Chinese, says the
writer just referred to, the. respect paid to the dead
seems to be almost the only thing that approaches the
character of a religious sense. " The duties belonging
to the dead," says a writer on Grecian antiquities,
" were thought of far greater importance, and the neg
lect of them a crime of far blacker character than those
2

10
required by the living." Among the Athenians, strict
inquiry was made of all candidates for office, whether
they had taken due care in celebrating the funerals and
adorning the monuments of their relatives. To neglect
this duty, even to a stranger accidentally found dead,
was thought a crime provoking vengeance from tiie
gods ; and to spare expense in funerals and monuments,
was supposed to indicate an unpardonable want of hu
manity. The ancient Jews viewed the subject in a
similar light ; and the ancient Christians placed the
duty on a level with the most pious of charities, and
even allowed the church plate to be melted down,
rather than that the means should fail of defraying the
expense. It is the exaggeration of the sentiment in question,
which has given rise to a variety of idolatries. The
worship of heroes among pagans, and of the relics of
saints among pagan Christians, had its origin unques
tionably in this source.
It is the force of this sentiment, likewise, which has
given sanctity, in all ages, to the grave. To deface a
monument, in ancient times, was a sacrilege, and even
now, to disturb a grave, though it be for the high pur
poses of science, is sufficient to stir public resentment
to its lowest and most fearful depths.
It is this which imparts all its interest to the spot
where a deceased friend reposes. How we love to
have our dear friends buried near us, and how painful
is the deprivation of tliis privilege ! Even the roaming
savage loves the graves of his fathers, and is fixed by
them to the spot of his nativity. He can quit with

11

small reluctance his hunting grounds, he can sell to the
white man for a trivial recompense his dear native for
ests and hills ; but his fathers' graves, — these are sa
cred to him ; he cannot easily exile himself from these.
Indeed, the spot where the ashes of a friend lie, never
can be as common earth to the aflfectionate heart. It is
ever redolent with the memory of that friend.
Nor are any of us regardless of our own future rest
ing place. The sick sailor sometimes dreads, more
than a miserable eternity, the prospect of being de
voured by the sharks. The sick stranger resigns life
far more cheerfully, when assured that his remains shall
be conveyed home, to rest side by side with the dust of
his kindred. And many a one in the very agonies of
dissolution, who perhaps heretofore has thought little of
the matter, perhaps despised the whole subject as a
weakness, has been constrained like the patriarch Jo
seph, to " give commandment concerning his bones."
Thus the evidence accumulates upon us, that regard
for the remains of the dead is among the most natural
and universal human sentiments.
II. But is the sentiment in question a worthy one,
or does it spring from that diseased state of our nature
which developes many tendencies, that require to be
suppressed ? I speak at present of the sentiment it
self merely, and not at all of those various practices,
by means of which we have seen it displayed. Littie
argument will be required, I think, here.
There are, unquestionably, the strongest associations
between the remains and the memory of the dead.

12

While the form continues fresh and unchanged, we can
hardly divest ourselves of the impression, that at least
some portion of its consciousness remains. This we
own is a mere illusion of the mind. The dead feel
nothing, perceive nothing, understand nothing. To
the cold clay, it is a matter of indifference, in what
way you may choose to dispose of it. But the illusion
is inseparable from our nature, and has its origin in a
most valuable principle ; and to violate a sacred asso
ciation, is to violate too the sensibiHties involved in it.
They who treat with indignity the remains, will not long
be likely to respect the memory of a friend; and the
sacredness of their respect for hving friends will be
likely to be proportionably impaired.
Our religion, as it seems to me, teaches us to cherish
a high regard for the departed. The doctrine of the
soul's immortality instructs us to retain them in our
affections. They are not lost. They have but passed
out of our sight. In another sphere they still hve ; — if
they died in the faith of the Saviour, a far higher,
and hoher, and better. It may be, that they still take an
interest, perhaps as lively an interest as they ever did,
in the affaii^ of their former abode. Ought we not,
therefore, to cherish their memories, perform faithfully
as far as may be their requests, sustain to the extent
which truth warrants their reputation, and hoping to
rejoin them hereafter, give them still a deep place in
our hearts ?
But the Christian doctrine of a resurrection from the
grave, instructs us likewise to respect even the body.
True, it may be called now our " vile body." It is

13

marred greatly, and must soon put on corruption. Its
remains in the process of dissolution are of all objects
the most loathsome. But a glorious destiny awaits it.
It must share all the destiny of the soul. If it falls
asleep in the faith of the Gospel, it is destined, in the
progress of events, to put on new and most beautiful
forms. By the power of our blessed Redeemer, the
reanimated body of his disciple will be " fashioned like
unto his own glorious body." True, the care which
we take of the ashes will avail nothing towards the pro
motion of that end. Nor has he who is deposited in the
grave by the hand of respect and affection, the least
advantage, as far as we can discover, over him who is
devoured by wild beasts. Still, it would be a strange
violence done to our nature, to treat as a mere object
of offence what we know has such glories in prospect.
Indeed, the Christian religion, if I mistake not, in a
variety of ways, aims to foster our respect for the body.
It even tells us that our bodies are temples, and by ev
ery such holy consideration, throws around it the most
sacred ideas. Our Saviour bestowed strong commen
dation on her who showed respect for his body, by
anointing it before and for the burial. And our feelings,
as Christians, must undergo strange transformations,
before we shall cease to love and honor Joseph of Ari-
mathea, for the care which he bestowed on that then
inanimate form.
No. Philosophy may teach us to despise the body,
while it aflfects to exalt the soul. Stoics may speak of
these vile rags, these mere clogs. The Gnostic Chris
tians assumed the same strain. True Christianity

14

speaks just the reverse ; for it teaches us that even " this
corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal
shall put on immortality." There is a truly Christian
sentiment in the words of the very sweetest of all Chris
tian lyrists : " The dust and ruins that remain.
Are precious in our eyes ;
These ruins shall he built again,
And all that dust shall rise."
III. It remains that we consider the question, in what
way shall that respect be displayed .'' It has doubtiess
occurred to all present, that the forms and observances
referred to as proving the existence of the sentiment,
are in many instances unworthy to be imitated. Many
of them are, perhaps, to us unintelligible. Many of
them seem manifestly absurd. Some are grossly idola
trous and profane. While the sentiment which gave
rise to them is a worthy one, the form and manner of
its developement are far otherwise.
Christians ought by all means to honor the dead, in a
manner comporting with Christianity. Those extrava
gant expressions of grief, which were practiced by the
pagans of antiquity, and whicli still prevail among some
barbarous nations ; — such as rolling themselves in the
dust, howling wildly, and tearing their own hair and
flesh, are manifestiy unworthy of Christians. Even the -
Hebrews were forbidden by tiieir rehgion to " make
cuttings in their flesh for the dead." Christianity, with
its salutary lessons, its cheering and ennobling anticipa
tions, its soothing and tranquillizing influences, should
preside in all our funeral solemnities. The more sim-

16

pie, the more orderly, the more quiet, is the form prac
ticed, the better its adaptation to its true end. It should
be the most 'natural expression of a chastened and
sanctified sorrow, and the religious element should
by all means be most prominent. Religion hallows
grief, and by hallowing, transmutes it and relieves its
pains. We may iveep for our departed friends, and we
ought to weep. So our Master did, and his example is
a standing rebuke to all stoical views of Christianity.
Yes, " Weep for the dead ! God bids you not restrain,
What nature claims, affection's soothing tear,
But weep like Christian mourners ; though the bier
Bear him away to death's obscure domain,
Yet he, with you who still on earth remain,
The summons of the Archangel's voice shall hear ;
And he with you before the Lord appear.
Soar to the clouds, and meet you there again."
Weep for your Christian friends, as those who are not
dead, but sleeping. Weep for your own bereavement,
as a child that bears a father's chastisement.
In regard to the remains of deceased friends, all idol
atrous demonstrations of respect are, of course, to be
discarded by Christians. We have no sensible inter
course with their spirits, we expect no assistance from
their mediation, we attach no supernatural virtue to
then- rehcs. Of course, we offer no oblations at their
shrines. With us, the tomb of a friend is sacred only
to memory and devout meditation ; to aflfectionate re
grets for our loss, to self-abasement and confiding re
signation before Him who has chastened us for our
good, and to the holiest and most exalting anticipations.

16

There we call to mind the virtues of the departed, to
inspire us with a sacred emulation ; and there we med
itate on our own frailty and precarious life, and look
forward to the destiny that awaits us.
Our arrangements, then, for disposing of the dead,
should be such as favor these uses of the tomb. In our
methods of burial, we should avoid carefully whatever
breaks in upon the sanctity of a becoming sorrow, or
diverts the mind from the true object of salutary and
religious contemplation. No fictitious terrors, no
merely physical apprehensions, should be fostered in
connexion with the tomb. It is a gloomy spot, and
never can be made otherwise ; because there we bury
our fondest earthly hopes and enjoyments. It is a
solemn spot, because it stands upon the threshold of
time, whence we look forward to a changeless eternity.
So let it be. But let us not add to it a gloom not its
own, by indulging in repulsive associations, and invest
ing it with imaginary horrors. Let us cherish, rather,
by all our arrangements, only those ideas which appro
priately belong to it.
The practice of burning the remains, which at some
periods has prevailed very extensively, is objectionable
in this view of the subject. To the old fire-worship
pers it had sacred associations. To us, however, it has
none such. And it does violence to the yet undecayed
form, while our grief is fresh, and affection clings most
closely to the clay.
We may say the same of the practice of embalming.
The very process is revolting to our feelings. Hence,
among the Egyptians, who practiced it so generally.

17
tiie person who, preparatory to the work, made the first
incision in the body of the deceased, was accustomed
to flee as for his life, as if dreading vengeance from the
excited feelings of bereaved friends. It is objectiona
ble too on another ground. If the practice of embalm
ing anticipates, this retards the operations of nature ;
and preserves the remains of the dead, when they can
no longer be a source of satisfaction. The shrivelled
mummy is a loathsome object. The idea of a friend
thus transformed, is offensive to our best sensibihties.
We have no wish to arrest the progress of decay. We
are willing that kind Nature should accomplish the task
which her divine author has assigned her. All we wish
is to protect the sacred relics from abuse, till by natural
means they shall cease to be distinguishable. Beyond
that we have no care for their destiny, except to look
forward to the great resurrection.
Among Christians, the practice of burying, either in
the earth, or in vaults prepared under its surface, has
been almost universally adopted. This accords best
with the primitive idea, " Dust thou art, and unto dust
thou shalt return." Indeed, it best harmonizes with the
whole theory and spirit of Christianity.
In regard to the place and mode of interment, some
variety of practice has found place. It is well known
that, in some Christian countries, as for instance in our
own mother land, the dead are buried from preference
in churches. The practice had its origin in supersti
tion. Still the sacred associations of the place, as pro
motive of the best moral uses of the tomb, afford no
inconsiderable argument in its favor. But prudential
3

18

considerations are against it. The health and comfort
of the living forbid that the dead should be deposited
where they congregate. It may be questioned, too,
whether religion is not liable to lose something, by being
associated, too exclusively, with the subject of mortality.
Some Christians make the whole of their piety to con
sist in preparation for the crisis of death. Hence the
true influence of rehgion on life is in part lost.
Respecting burial in tombs or in the earth, there will
of course be some difference of opinion. For myself,
I should give the preference to the latter. The vault,
frequently opened, exposes too often to the vulgar gaze
the sacred relics of what once was most dear to us.
Besides, the process of dissolution is too appalhng. I
would have it, if possible, go on and be consummated
in the deepest seclusion of nature. Let us never see the
loved form ofthe departed, after death has begun serious
ly to mar its beauty and expression. Let our last impres
sion, if possible, be a natural one. Then, however re-
luctantiy, let us take a long farewell, and let memory
thenceforth be the guardian of a form that can now
never be restored. I have also an aversion for the tomb,
because it shuts me out, as it were, from the presence
of the sacred dust ; I linger at its wall and bolted door,
and strive to fix in my imagination its resting-place ;
and my feelings are as though I were similarly excluded
from the presence of some hving object of affection.
But at the grave I can seem to find the precise spot.
The " little grassy mound " is to me but the veiled form
of the deceased, and I love it, as if it were his very self.
I can sympathize with Wordsworth's "littie cottage

19
girl," who knew for certain, that the dear brother and
sister that lay in the churchyard, must be still reckoned
as of the family circle ; because she could still visit them
there every day, and see with her own loving eyes their
green graves. On a tomb, ordinarily, you can write no
inscriptions, unless it be for a very few of the inmates.
And it gives an interest and reality to the scene, to read
at least the names and ages of our friends, and a few
facts in their history and character. We reperuse them
for the hundredth time with new interest, and the
little verse or sentiment on the stone may be made to
speak their own language, wanting only the tone.
In some places there are family burying-grounds,
set apart, perhaps, by the father of the family, in a
small enclosure or corner of his own field. Many things
might be said in favor of this arrangement. I shall
never forget my impressions during a visit to a venera
ble old relative. He had carried me through the apart
ments of his house, and explained to me his arrange
ment of his property, and the settlements which he had
made for his children. I had viewed his large barns
and well-stocked farm-yard, wandered over his exten
sive and rich grounds, climbed the hills, roamed the
forests, looked again and again at the broad and beau
tiful lake, whose clear waters spread their surface near
his door, and with many thanks for his generous hospi-
tahty, was about giving him the parting salutation.
" Stop," said he, " I must show you just one place
more ; " and leading on through a small gate, and back
around the corner of a shed, he brought me out upon
a quiet littie nook, where rested the remains of his

20

dead. " There," said he, " are my children, here my
grand-children, there (pointing to a newly-made grave,
over which stood the bier, as an indication that the last-
arrived rested beneath,) is the newly-buried wife of my
son, and here soon I expect to lie down." The eissocia-
tions of the place were most hallowed. It was his own,
and his own dead alone rested in its bosom. No stranger
foot had a right to intrude ; and I thought hardly any
thing could be more soothing and salutary, if we must
part with the friends whom we love, than to have, on
one's own private premises, such a sweet little garden
of graves. But I looked forward a few years, and my
views changed. This old man, said I, will soon lay
down his dust, and this noble farm will pass away from
his family. Strangers, caring nothing for him or for
his, will obtain possession, and the rude ploughshare
will soon level these mounds.
These reflections will illustrate the importance of a
place set apart and secured exclusively to the rest of
the dead. Even the public graveyards of our viUages
and cities have not always been kept sacred to their
first object. We wish for something yet more perma
nent and guarded. Not that any of us can indulge the
idea, that our graves will remain for ever unmoved.
That were folly. But we wish at least for a spot so
protected, that, until our ashes shall cease to be distin
guishable, and our memory to be cherished by surviv
ing friends, the repose of our remains maybe unbroken.
We wish also for some place which we can appro
priate ; where the dust of whole families, if they choose,
may lie together, and where affection may repair often

21
to weep, and devotion to look forward to eternity. We
want no display of magnificence. We want no aristo
cratic distinctions. Death is, as it has been called,
" tiie great leveller." So let it be. Build costly tombs !
Rear stately monuments ! It is all mockery. There
the fact lies, that the dust of kings is no better than that
of peasants. Still a moderate degree of ornament in a
cemetery, the display of good taste in its arrangement,
is in perfect harmony with its true spirit and design.
We wish a spot, then, so arranged and appropriated,
tiiat affection may feel free to indulge itself in adorning
the repose of the departed ; and where the taste of indi
viduals may have scope, and the hving be attracted, not
repelled. Such a place is the spot we now occupy. Some
might choose one more remote from the peopled town.
To others, the vicinity of this recommends it. It is
near, yet retired ; where the noise of business does not
disturb, yet where the tired citizen may easily come,
when the labors of the day are over, for refreshment,
composure, and reflection. In its surface, there is a
pleasant variety. The broad level above us, affords a
favorable opportunity for the display of taste in the em
bellishments of art ; while the stately oaks, venerable in
all ages, and awakening the most venerable associations ;
the heights and valleys, the steep declivities and gentier
slopes, present a pleasing aspect to the lover of nature's
irregularities. From the elevation above us, the pros
pect is varied and dehghtful. Beneath and around you
are the beauties and the hallowed associations of the
spot. On the north is our own beautiful town, dear

22

at all times to the hearts of its sons. On the west, you
may catch a few glimpses of the hill, where your ven
erable sires, witii a large portion of their offspring, now
slumber. On the south are the broad fields and mead
ows, extending far away towards the neighboring vil
lages, and bounded by the blue hills and forests. And
on the east, you may discern through the trees, the
mighty ocean, that common cemetery of the world ;
whose voice chants a low dirge as the east wind- stirs
up its waves, at once imparting to this spot a melan
choly interest, and seeming to bewail its own dead,
gathered out of all ages and climes. The whole scene
is in harmony with the object. The taste and judgment
already displayed, by those who have laid out these
grounds, present before you to-day, in their results,
their own highest and best commendation.
Our ambition is not great in this matter, as indeed
all ambition were incongruous in connection with a
place of rest for the dead. We do not think to vie with
Mount Auburn or Harmony Grove. It is enough for
us, if we secure to ourselves a quiet, tasteful, hallowed
spot, where the dust of our departing friends may be
treasured, and where we ourselves may repose by their
side, when a few more of these suns shall have set.
Such a spot " Oak Hill Cemetery " is — a perfect
gem, in its kind ; and, although small it is true, in
comparison with some others, large enough perhaps for
the wants of this place, and admitting readily of future
enlargement. These hills, then, and these valleys and oalis, that
flowery plain and these avenues and paths, with all else

23
tiiat pertains to this spot, we here consecrate to the
repose of the dead. For ever sacred to this use may it
remain. Let the lust of gain never disturb it. Let
the foot of gayety beware of profaning it. Here let
Sorrow weep her fill unmolested, and the slow hearse,
as it winds up that beautiful avenue, attended by the
dark-robed train of the bereaved, meet with nothing to
interrupt the solemnity of a place consecrated to such
uses as this. Let it ever be, what its name indicates,
a cemetery, a place of rest, a lodging-chamber, where
the sleep of the grave may be slept out undisturbed,
till the morning of the Resurrection shall break it.
Look round now, respected friends and fellow citi
zens, look round on the spot you have selected. We
have come hither not to honor the dead ; — there are
none here, unless perhaps some old chief of past ages,
of a race now extirpated and -gone, may have laid down
his worn body in these mounds. We have come, not
to mourn over lost friends, not to meditate on the vir
tues of the departed, not to lay some new treasure of
afl'ection in the dust. We have come rather to survey
our own burying-place, and that of those who, with us,
now enjoy hfe. Mark the spot ; — your own burying-
ground, your own grave. Come and view it, — ye who
now enjoy vigor and health, ye who hitherto have
thought littie of death, —
" Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie."
Here the aged man will soon lay his gray hairs ; here
the strong man will soon have yielded up his strength ;

24
here the youthful foot will have ceased from its fleet-
ness, and the sweet flowers of childhood which to-day
adorn that green bank, will he withering beneath the
turf on which they now blossom.* Who will be the first
tenant of Oak Hill ? O who ?
I have said, that the dead are not here. Yet they
wait even now for admission. Your arrangements
have proved even too tardy, for the fell Destroyer who
is mowing us down. I said we came not to weep over
the departed. Yet we do weep, and we must weep to
day. Very sad is the blow that has smitten us ;
sad the breach that has been made in our society.
One greatly beloved by her intimates, and respected
justiy by all her acquaintance ; the inteUigent, the re
fined, the accomphshed ; one who took, I have reason
to believe, a deep interest in the enterprise which we
are here to consummate, waits now for a place for her
ashes. And a prominent associate in .this enterprise,
one who, among the most forward and active, as
sisted in preparing these grounds, is now fingering
beside the cold form of his companion, and waiting
only the appointed hour for her burial. Already, ere
your preparations are completed, one among you has a
wife and a babe ready to become tenants of tiiis spot.f
* Since the above remark was uttered, a melancholy interest has been im
parted to it from the fact, that only four days after the consecration, a young
lad, then in good health, and among the sprightliest that were present, re
ceived the mortal stroke, and now actually lies beneath the turf on the margin
ofthe spot occupied by the assembly.
t Mrs. Sarah Miles Greenwood Lunt, wife of Hon. George Lunt, of this
town, died on Wednesday, July 20th, the evening before the consecration, and
her infant child a few days previous.

25
¦' O sail arc the tears he 'U shed
And bitter the grirfs he 'II pour,
As he lays to rest the faithful dead,
In nature's verdant bower.
" May every song that falls.
Each flower that decks the sod,
And every breathing air recall
¦His soul to the mourner's God." *

And thus we hve. Thus we die. The whole earth
is but a common cemetery. The dead are already
innumerable. The hving linger a littie, then follow
them. We are all flying. Mortals, certainly, should
think much and seriously of death.
But let us cast our thoughts forward, for a moment.
" I saw the dead," said a prophetic voice, " I saw the
dead, small and great, stand before God ; and the books
were opened, and the dead were judged out of those
things which were written in the books, according to
their works. And the sea gave up the dead which were
in it ; and death and hell delivered up the dead which
were in them : and they were judged, every man accord
ing to their works." More important than the repose of

* The above was altered from two stanzas of one of the hymns sung on the
occasion, and composed by the subject of this bereavement. The original is
as follows : " And sweeter tears we shed,
And softer thoughts are ours.
As thus we lay the faithful dead
In nature's verdant bowers.
" While every song that falls.
Each flower that decks the sod.
And every breathing air recalls
The soul to nature's God."

26

the body is the preparation of the soul for that scene ;
more important than a name sculptured in marble, is a
name in the Lamb's book of life. May ours, my friends,
be a share in that inheritance, which inspiration has
pronounced incorruptible ; ours a home in those abodes
of the ransomed, where eternal truth testifies, " they
cannot die any more."

ORDER OF EXERCISES
AT THE
Olonseaation of t\)t ODak ^iU €mtUxn.

THTJRSDAT, JCLY ai, 1843.

L DIRGE. -By the Bane.
n. INTRODUCTORY PRAYER.- By Rbv. Mr.. Campbelx..
IIL SELECTIONS FROM SCRIPTURE._By Rev. Ma. Abnol:,.
IV. ORIGINAL HYMN. -By Hon. George Lunt.

The ocean's coral cave,
The green hill's flowery breast, —
What matter where tho peaceful grave
That folds our final reat.
WeU sleep the countless dead,
By grove and stream and plain,
Beneath the city's thronging tread,
Or solitary main.
Enoagh for them that Faith
The shadowy path illumes,
That Hope lights up the hour of death,
And lingers round their tombs.
Yet Abraham bought the cave
By Mamre'fi ancient shade ; —

The tomb, it was a garden-grave
In which our Lord waa laid.
And sweeter tears we shed.
And softer thoughts are ours,
When thus we lay the faithful dead
Mid Nature's verdant bowers :
While every song that falls.
Each flower that decks the sod.
And every breathing air recalls
The soul to Nature's God.
For this, we make the place,
And consecrate its bound j
For this, raay every coming race
Revere and bless the ground !

V. ADDRESS. — By Rev. Mr. Stearns.
VL PRAYER OF CONSECRATION. — By Rev. Dr. Dana.
VII. ORIGINAL HYMN — By Miss Hannah F. Gould.

Man passeth soon : his earliest breath
Is but the promise sure of death ;
From being's dawn to darkling age,
The grave his certain heritage.
We sink like drops of summer showers ;
As grass we're mown — we *re plucked as
flowers ;
We fall Uke autumn's faded leaves —
Are garnered in like whitened sheaves-
But Christ hath slumbered in the tomb '.
Hia entering hallowed all its gloom ;
Where he unbarred its rocky doors
The riseu Conqueror's glory pours.
And 'while to earth our dust returns.
As odors rise while incense burns,
The spirit triumphs o'er decay,
Eecalled to God, and soars away.

We here appoint, by solemn rite.
On this sequestered, peaceful site
With flowery grass and shadowy tree.
The City of our Dead to be.
Though this now sacred turf must break
Our dearest forma of life to take,
On Nature's calm, maternal breast
'Tis meet her weary children rest.
When Love and Grief their vigils keep
O'er those who in these clods shall sleep,
May Faith hold her unwavering light
'Till death be shown a transient night !
May He who, pitying "touched the bier,"
Console each future mourner here j
And all the dead, at last, arise
With joy, to meet him in the skies !

VIII. CONCLUDING PRAYER.— By. Rev. Mb. Dimmick.
IX. DIRGE. — By the Banp-
X. BENEDICTION.

®MU^^^ OJl! ftOj)!^ (^i^^mMmu

TRUSTEES,

JOHN PORTER, Peesident, THOS. B. FOX,
CHARLES W. STOREY, ROBERT BAILEY, Je.
JOHN WOOD, JAMES CAREY.
GEORGE LUNT,
EDWARD S. MOSELEY, Treasurer and Clerk.

Notice.

inF Persohs wishing to purchase lots iu the Oak Hill Cemetery, can apply
to the President ofthe Corporation, or either of the Trustees. The lota will
be sold at a uniform price of ten cbkts the square foot. The fee for a choice,
until fifty more lota are sold, will he three noLi-AHa. A plein ofthe Cemetery
m.ay he seen at the Essex Marine Insurance Office, State street, NewbuxvDort.

CayloI'd Bros.
Makers
Syracuse, N Y.
rAT.JAII.2l. 190S

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