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THE FIRST

FOREST LAWN CEMETERY.

THE grounds in this Cemetery embrace about eighty acres. They were purchased in 1849, by Mr. Charles E. Clarke, of the Rev. James N. Granger, and his brother, Mr. Warren Granger. The price paid was $150 per acre. They comprise a part of the "Granger Farm,” are located on the north-east side of Kenjocketa Creek, between Delaware and Main streets, and, are about two miles and a half from the center of the city of Buffalo, although they are within its limits, as recently enlarged.

The grounds form a bluff, or high table, and are nearly surrounded on the south and west by Kenjocketa Creek. They contain about equal quantities of forest and lawn: hence their name, "Forest Lawn." They are beautifully variegated; a series of knolls extending from the south-easterly bounds, nearly parallel with the creek, to the

north-westerly corner of the grounds.

Between

this and the creek is a margin of the most beautiful woodland, varying in width from five or six to fifteen rods. The underbrush and surplus trees have been cleared out, and the grounds seeded with white clover. They now present a beautiful wood lawn, and afford a grateful shade for visitors in warm weather.

The improvements upon these grounds were commenced early in the spring of 1850, and have been prosecuted without any interruption since that period. They are inclosed with a good substantial picket fence, eight feet in height.

Avenues have been opened through almost every part of them. About thirty acres have been graded, laid out into lots, and improved in the most tasteful and appropriate manner for purposes of sepulture. Large and convenient buildings have been erected at the entrance of the main avenue leading to the grounds, for the residence of the Superintendent, and for the accommodation of the laborers upon the grounds; also, a large Mausoleum, or receiving vault, capable of containing about sixty coffins, and a neat Gothic Cottage upon the grounds, for an office, and for the use of the sextons and persons who go to bury their dead in stormy or inclement weather.

About five hundred Lots have already been

sold, and many of them improved in a manner highly creditable to the taste and liberality of the Proprietors.

The grounds were dedicated to the burial of the dead, August 18, 1850, by interesting and appropriate religious exercises, commencing with the singing of the following Poem, written by Miss Matilda H. Stuart, of this city.

Come to this dwelling of the dead,
Thou wand'rer of a day!

Kneel at the threshold of thy home,

And bid thy spirit pray.

Come, while around thee thou canst fold

The fading robes of life,

And find a place to lay them by—

When worn with dust and strife.

Come from the busy, changeful world,
And leave thy sorrows there,

'Tis meet that thou should'st steal awhile
From turmoil and from care.
The tender voice of mother earth,
Her child will welcome here,
She hath a lesson for thy heart,
And music for thy ear.

These forest trees, whose boughs go forth
To meet their native sky,

Will lead thy wayward thoughts afar—
To fairer scenes on high.
The flowers that blossom at their feet,
And wither in their bloom,
Will teach the story thou may'st tell,
While treading to the tomb.

The stream that softly wanders through
This place of holy rest,

And holds a gentle freight of leaves

Upon its placid breast,

May whisper of the stream that flows,
Far in the purer clime,

And bears upon its healing waves,
The weary sons of time.

And here, amid these solemn shades,
The moss and ivy creep,

And mark the spot where, all unwept,
Thy Indian brothers sleep,

And thou wilt feel that all are dust,

And all must pass away;

One Father loves and watches too,
The children of the clay.

Then followed reading of Scripture, by the Rev. G. W. Hosmer, D. D., and a prayer by the Rev. Dr. Shelton.

The Choir then sung the following Poem, by Mr. Asher P. Nichols:

When Angels, at Bethesda's pool,
Troubled, each day, the waters cool,
All maladies were healed;

To impotence, came strength enhanced—
The halt leaped forth-sweet visions glanced
On orbs in darkness sealed.

Oh Death! Bethesda, where the clay,
And cares of earth are washed away,
The fettered soul set free :-

Set free, to mount and soar, and sing
In rapture, on the buoyant wing
Of immortality-

Thy Treasure-House but holds the dust
Of those we loved, in sacred trust,

The spirit rests not here.

Thou shalt not keep them! Glorified,
These forms shall rise, and side by side,
Shall fill a holier sphere.

Here morn's fresh breath and golden beams,
And evening's hush, and murm'ring streams,
Their loving watch shall keep;
And Angels, passing to and fro,
Shall pause, and bless this earth below—
The dust of those who sleep.

Then let us, Death! upon thy bowers,
Strew fairest, forest leaves and flowers,
That kindly hands may cull;
Bid shapes of dread all flee away-

To life, oh Grave! thou art the Way,
The Gate, called Beautiful!

Mr. Guy H. Salisbury then read the following Ode, written by him for the occasion:

We consecrate to DEATH
This Forest-Altar-hence to be

The place of Graves. We yield to thee,
Oh Shadowy Power! this fair domain;
We give thee Wood, and Hill, and Plain,
To gather here thy pale array,
The Vanquished of Life's battle-day!

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