This beautiful “home of the dead” was laid out in the fall of 1873, and contained ten acres of ground, undulating and gently sloping to the south and east. It is covered with a splendid growth of forest trees, casting their shades over many sylvan retreats. The grounds have been handsomely laid out in square blocks, enough of the trees being removed to make walks and a drive in its shady grove. The main drive is a continuation of Main street, Gallatin, which enters from the north side. It lies one mile south of the city. It is here among these shady nooks, with the branches of the trees swinging to and fro, singing a low, soft requiem, that the loved ones are left to their eternal sleep. Beautiful, indeed, is this ” silent city,” basking in the sunlight, or with the mantle of darkness which throws a somber gloom over its portals, guarded only by the angels of love. Here they sleep until the last trump shall awaken them to the glories of eternity, and join the angel chorus in praises to the Most High forever more.
“I walk these silent haunts with reverend tread, And seem to gaze upon the mighty dead; Imagination calls the noble train, From dust and darkness back to life again.”
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