3 9002 07258 6770

^sr

_AT5

ABDEESS

J^jOMClATIOIif M THE NEW CEMETEEY

f.!f,1'.r;yE;ST CAM-BEIDGE, MASS.,
''¦',% Jia*E 14th, 1843.

^

I J,

!¦,

.' *'rj',1X'I' ,< DELIVERED AT THE

:.-;;^:-.v'.

, DAVID DAMON,
,J f.,.^ Vli'&Te SASXOB OF THE COI^GBEqATlONAUST SOCIBTT.

-i-
SOMBRYILLE:
EDMUND TUFTS.
"I give «Ac/V Bff^ii
ff/pr tie /i>temii»gi>f a. College iTulAcs Colony?

AIM

ADDRESS
DELIVERED AT THE
CONSECRATION OE THE NEW CEMETERY
IN
WEST CAlMBRIDGE, MASS.,
June 14th, 1843.
JiY
DAVID DAMON,
LATE PASTOB OF THE CONGBEGATI0NALI3T SOCIETT.

SOMERVILLE:
EDMUND TUFTS
1^43.

NOTE.
The following Address, the last production from the pen of the
Rev. David Damon, was written " beforehand against the day of
his burial." Nine days subsequent to its delivery he attended
the funeral of the Hon. Edmund Parker, in Reading, Mass. He
entered the pulpit apparently in good health, but at the close of
the services was attacked with apoplexy. He was conveyed from
the pulpit to the late residence of Mr. Parker where he died on
Sunday moi-ning, June 25th, in the fifty-sixth year of his age.
He was the first to rest in the new Cemetei-y, at the consecration
of which he had so recently assisted. His townsmen, — who have
since strewed his grave with flowers, "and blessed the bed," —
previous to his decease requested a copy of the Address for pub
lication. With that request he intended to comply. It is now
given as a last token of his regard for them until they shall re
join him in that " building from God, that house not made with
hands, which is eternal in the heavens." N. D.
West Cambridge, August I2th, 1843.

ADDRESS.

Christian Friends :
We have come together on an occasion, which re
quires only the utterance, with all seriousness and
simplicity, of the thoughts which are in every m|nd.
and the emotions which must be felt by every heart.
We have not to say what all should think, but what
all do think, — what all should feel, but what all do
feel. Here mind answers to mind, heart to heart.
There is accordance, unison, mutuality of sentiment,
and the sentiment of mutual interest and equality.
There may be diversity, there cannot be opposition,
of thought or feeling. All which the occasion re
quires, and all which befits it, is common, mutual,
belongs to one category, pertains to man, as man.
We have come to set apart and devote this chosen
ground, to be henceforth a receptacle and resting-
place of the dead, — not to hallow, to consecrate, to
make it sacred, — but simply to set it apart, — to
announce its exclusive future, adaptation and char
acter. Whatever of sacredness we may at this
time associate with it, must spring from the thought
— The dead will be here ! Whatever of sacredness
men shall hereafter associate with it, will spring
from the thought — The dead are here! Neither

we, nor those who shall come after us, can derive
the feeling of sacredness and solemnity, and perma
nently attach it to the place, from the service which
we now render. Our service may manifest, but can
not originate, a sentiment which belongs to the uni
versal heart of humanity.
All nations, all descriptions of men venerate the
dead. The catacombs of ancient Egypt, the inorais
in the sunny isles of the Pacific, Mount Auburn in
young America, even the rudely pictured urn, hang
ing in the humble dwelling which death has visited,
with a weeping willow, and a female form bending
over it, all these are so many witnesses to the exist
ence, and strength of action, of the universal senti
ment. The burying-place was the centre of attrac
tion in the Patriarch's nomadic circle ; and it is the
last and dearest spot to which the affections of our
aboriginal, miscalled savage, cling, when he is torn
from his country and made to take up his march in
the line of the setting sun. We find no essential
difference between the ancients and the moderns,
the barbarous and the civilized, the inhabitants of
the city, and the dwellers on the hill-sides and in
the remotest glens of the country, in their cherish
ed and manifested reverence for the dead.
Of course there must be deep foundations in hu
man nature for a sentiment so powerful and univer-
.sal. It may be referred by the superficial thinker
\.j imagination and superstition. But it should be
remembered, that the pure imagination does not vol
untarily wander beyond the domains of nature and
truth, that it bodies forth things which should be
and will be, if they are not already ; and that super
stition, so much and often deprecated, is but another

name for the unenlightened and untrained action of
the religious principle itself. Christianity, in teach
ing us the nature and destination of the soul, does
not teach us to regard the material organization,
with which it is associated, in the infancy of its be
ing, as altogether worthless. Christianity allows, if
it does not sanction, the .natural spontaneous senti
ments and yearnings of the human heart. They are
none other than the sentiments and yearnings of the
soul itself. Not only Mary, but Jesus also, wept at
Lazarus's tomb. The ascending spirit imparts sanc
tity, in the view and estimate of the living, to the
lifeless body, as if it might still come, and reassert
its claim to it, as its own.
Seldom is there a voluntary lingering and musing
in the place of graves, without imparting some pu
rifying influence, some renovating impulse. Alv/ays
the indulgence of the sentiments of veneration and
affection for the dead, tends to make the hearts of
the living better.
Man learns, in his contemplations in the resting-
place of the dead, the essential equality and broth
erhood of man. The rich man is brought from his
marble dome, and the laborer from his cottage, to lie
side by side, and one occupies as much length and
breadth of God's Earth as the other. The beggar,
from the highway, is brought next ; and neither of
the former occupants takes offence at his entrance
upon the footing of equality. Man comes into the
world in helplessness and nakedness ; and of all
which he acquires in it, he carries nothing with him
to the grave. Whatever is still actually his own,
goes with him to the world of spirits, where is but
one and the same impartial tribunal, whence sen-

tence is pronounced upon the deeds done in the
body. Filial Reverence comes to the resting-place of the
dead, first to record in enduring marble the virtues
of the venerated and loved, and then to read over
the record and meditate upon the monitions it gives,
and the recollections it calls up. Here the man, in
the maturity of his strength and wisdom, actively
engaged in the duties of life, oppressed by its bur
dens and cares, flushed with the riches and honors
of the world, or satiated with, and sick of such un
satisfying perishable things, — corrupted, it may be,
by the world's influence, or penitent and seeking for
the restoration of lost peace, — here is he carried
back, in memory and imagination, to the days of
childhood, innocence, and unalloyed enjoyment. The
image of his father is presented to his mind's-eye,
as he was in those first-remembered days, and, by
his side, (an helpmeet indeed,) the image of the
blended wisdom and carefulness and never slumber
ing affection of his mother. He remembers their
advice, which he may not have followed ; their Chris
tian example, which he may not have copied ; their
warnings of moral dangers, which he has not shunned ;
and follows in the path in which recollection leads
him till he arrives at the concluding scenes in which
they departed in the triumphs of Christian faith and
hope ; and he withdraws from the hallowed place,
and his contemplations in it, an altered and better
man. Grief comes also to the place of deposit of the
most precious of all relics, to open its treasure-house
of tears, and find, at least, a temporary and partial
relief, in pouring them out where they may flo-w

freely. In the midst of daily cares which are inevi
table, and duties which yet must be done because
they are duties, and the obtrusive observances of the
world which cannot be wholly shunned nor shut out,
the inward struggling of the mourner's grief would
sometimes be overwhelming, if the hour of retire
ment and prayer did not intervene, or it were not
permitted to follow with Mary, to weep where she
wept. Fond Affection, Griefs fairer and healthier sister,
comes hither with her, and often she tarries longer,
and comes again and again, years after grief has
parted with all its tears, and has ceased to be grief.
What can ever prevent, what should ever prevent,
the endeavour of fond affection to be near its object ?
But the spirit of the loved child, or brother, or sister,
or friend dearer than brother, or sister, has departed.
It no more answers perceptibly to the calls to which
all its faculties used to be continually and joyfully
alive. What remains, but to follow where the shrine
in which it was inclosed, was last seen and deposit
ed, as if the spirit still hovered round its vacated
tenement, and were pleased with and accepted the
decorations and honors bestowed upon that as done
to itself? Who would chide away Rizpah from
watching, with mingled grief and affection, by the
lifeless remains of her sons, and not rather, like Da
vid, sympathize with the feeling and do it reverence ?
So when the mother comes to water with her tears
the flowers which she has planted upon the grave of
her darling child, it is a spectacle at which angels
might weep in sympathy, were it not that the pres
ence of the ascended spirit of the innocent with
themselves, now also as they are, a ministering spirit

before the Father's throne of love, must turn the
tears of sympathetic grief into tears of joy.
Is it to be supposed, that the indulgence and mani
festation of all these thoughts and emotions can profit
nothing, — avail nothing? Let it never be doubted,
that such of&ces and offerings of fond affection tend to
humanize humanity itself, to soften, to purify, to ele
vate man's heart ; to secure to the living an increas
ed amount of reciprocal affection and attention ; to
strengthen and deepen even a mother's love for the
children whom death has yet spared. Let it not be
supposed for a moment, that what has been done
and is contemplated, in regard to this spacious and
beautiful Cemetery, shall be in vain as it respects
the highest humane. Christian, and spiritual interests
of all who dwell in the vicinity and town. Rather
let us confidently expect that what has been done,
what we now do, and what is to be done here, on
this ground, shall contribute something, in addition
to the motives already in operation, to rescue our
more ancient Cemetery, dear to the hearts of so
many of the living, and in which so many of the
fathejs sleep, from the appearance of cold neglect
which it has too long exhibited. Then shall both,
that and this, the resting-place of the fathers, and
the resting-place of the sons and successors of the
fathers, alternately and together, not divide and con
found, but mutually share and heighten our venera
tion, and contribute to our attainment and progress
in all which the believing Christian heart lives for
and longs for.
Here, also, following in the train of grief and fond
affection mingled with grief, come Christian faith
and hope, to impart to the stricken mourner's breast.

the consolation it needs most, and the highest con
solation it can receive. I do not say that the tokens
and mementos of death and dissolution are of them
selves adapted to inspire consolation and hope. But
I say where death has been, or has left the desolat
ing marks of his footsteps, there it is that Christian
faith and hope are surest to follow, to do their own
restorative and more blessed work. It was an equal
ly interesting characteristic in Jacob's vision of the
ladder that its foot was firmly planted on the earth,
as it was that its top readied to heaven ; and if the
vision should be repeated to any of us, the effort of
our dream would be to reach its foot that we might
begin the ascent towards the glory and felicity above
its- top. So it is the perfection of truly Christian
faith and hope, that they extend downward to the
lowest depths of human affliction and despair, as
well as transcend in their upward towering, all pre
vious thoughts of the hearts which they enter. Here
then let us resort in the dark day of bereavement and
sorrow, as well as in the sunshine of temporary pros
perity. Here we shall find the greatest contrasts, —
not only spectacles of the lowest depths, but visions,
glimpses at least, of the greatest heights, — not only
the tomb, but Jesus, who is the resurrection and the
life, before the tomb. What so beautiful thought
was ever so beautifully expressed as that which is
contained in these few simple words ? " Thy broth
er shall rise again." What object can faith ever em
brace large enough to fill and satisfy the soul, save
that which is presented in that other declaration of
Him who brought life and immortality to light in
His gospel? — "Whosoever liveth and believeth in
me shall never die." And both these declarations,.

10
be it remembered, were uttered, when Jesus and the
loved sisters, were, in thought, already at the tomb
of Lazarus, whither they immediately went, and
witnessed the beginning of their fulfilment. Here
then we find the beginning and end, the sum and
result of human contemplation, when, in the depths
of the soul, and surrounded by the objects most
adapted to the solemnity of our spiritual frame, we
agitate the questions — Whence are we, and whither
do we go ? Our bodies are taken from the dust, and
the dust returns to earth as it was ; but this is not
the end. We begin with the dissoluble and corrup
tible, but rise to the indissoluble and incorruptible.
We begin, in our contemplations, with thoughts of
sin, dishonor, weakness, grief, anguish, death ; but
we end with the thought, and not only the thought,
but with the assurance, of glory and honor and im
mortality. Good then may it be for us that we have
come together here. Good may it be for us when
we shall come often hereafter, and return to our
homes, and the world, and our avocations, to carry
into practical effect, the impulses imparted by the
Holy Spirit while we were here, and then hasten to
come again — till we shall be unconsciously borne
here for the last time and left.
Permit me now to end with a few verses compos
ed and written immediately before the address, but
adapted to its close, inasmuch as the address is only
an expansion of the sentiments of the verses, and
these consequently an epitome of the Address.
When the freed spirit wings its way
Above this scene of mortal pain,
Here earth to earth shall be consigned,
That dust may turn to dust again.

11

This chosen ground we set apart
For wearied nature's place of rest.
Earth's children here shall find repose "
Like children on their mother's breast.
Here filial reverence and love
Shall come to spend the pensive hour ;
Here fond affection's hand shall plant
Full many a choice and fragrant flower.
Here grief shall come at early dawn,
To ope' its treasure-house of tears ;
And come again at evening tide,
To sigh forth all it feels and fears.
Here faith and hope shall also come,
'Midst death's proud trophies, fearless stand ;
And raise the stricken mourner's heart
To the joy-beaming spirit land :
The land where death strives not with life ;
(While some must fall and some must moan ;)
But all shall know that all is past,
Save life, Eternal Life, alone.

THE FOLLOWING HYMNS WERE WRITTEN FOR THE OCCASION.
BV REV. J. C. VPALDO.
This ia, O God ! a weary world,
And oft of joy 't is all unblest;
Yet thanks to thee, that thou hast found
On earth for man, one place of rest.
No sculptured dome we come to raise,
No temple here to- consecrate ;
A resting-place for nature's mould,
To thee we humbly dedicate.
When mourners hither bend their way,
To bury what thy love had given,
As here in tears they leave the clay,
Teach them the treasure is in heaven.

12
Let nature here unfold her charms.
And shed around her early bloom ;
With joyous smiles her incense spread,
To cheer and beautify the tomb.
Then fear be banished from this place ;
Bid superstition's spectre fly ;
And let the entrance be inscribed —
" It is a blessed thing to die."
We pass from spring to summer's heat
And autumn mild to winter's cold.
Nor fear these changes all to meet,
For all the Maker's love unfold.
Thus as we pass from infancy
To youth, to manhood, and decay,
These changes wherefore should we dread ?
For these as much His love display.
So if we bring the aged sire.
The smiling babe, the blooming youth.
Or ripened manhood, here to rest, —
They rest in " Friendship, Love, and Truth.'
And when at length our God shall give
The summons of his grace and love,
That brings our bodies here to rest,
Our spirits we will rest above.

BY MRS. E. A. WHITTEMOEE.
With the words of solemn prayer,
And the voices of the psalm ;
With our hearts estranged from care
And our feelings hushed and calm ;.
With a firm, confiding hope
Of a resurrection day,
We now consecrate this spot.
Where the loved and dead may lay.
Here we will fair blossoms bring,
And we'll plant the graceful trees,
That shall, low whispering, sing
Soothing requiems to the breeze ;
And the mourner here will stray.
Oft to meditate at even,
Till the place, indeed, becomes
As the very "gate of Heaven ! "
Lo ! the grave is not our home,
Veiled in dark and hopeless gloom ;
To the Christian, light has shone
From his Saviour's garden tomb ;
It reveals him risen on high,
And to faith, assurance gives,
That our " flesh may rest in hope,'
For the dear Redeemer lives.

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

V, ,» 5-3 -*«*: I i*i' 1 1

I r

'. ,. 'A. I >