In Memoriam. - Hon. Phillip Ripley,

Died at Hartford, July 8th, 1862, aged 68.


It is not meet the good and just
    Oblivious pass away,
And leave no record for their race,
Except a dim and fading trace,
    The memory of a day.

We need the annal of their course,
    Their pattern for a guide,--
Their armor that temptation quell'd,--
The beacon-light that forth they held
    O'er Time's delusive tide.

Within the House of God I sate
    At Summer's morning ray,--
And sadly mark'd a vacant seat
Where erst in storm, or cold or heat
    While lustrums held their way,

Was ever seen with reverent air
    Intent on hallow'd lore,
A forehead edg'd with silver hair,
A manly form bow'd low in prayer,--
    They greet our eyes no more.

And where [1]Philanthropy commands
    Her lighted lamp to burn,
And youthful feet inured to stray
Are wisely warn'd to duty's way,
    Repentant to return,

He, with a faith that never fail'd,
    Its first inception blest,--
And year by year, with zeal untired,
Wise counsel lent,--new hopes inspired,
    And righteous precepts prest.

They did him honor at his grave,
    Those men of mystic sign,
Whose ancient symbols bright and fair,
The Book, the Level, and the Square,
    Betoken truth benign:

All do him honor, who regard
    Integrity sincere,
But they who knew his virtues best,
While fond remembrance rules the breast,
    Will hold his image dear.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

Lydia Howard Sigourney, born on September 1, 1791, and died on June 10, 1865, was one of the most popular and prolific poets in 19th-century America. Often referred to as the 'Sweet Singer of Hartford,' she authored numerous works that included poetry, essays, and books on various subjects. Her writings, characterized by their moral and didactic tone, earned her a reputation as a leading female literary figure of her time. Sigourney's influence extended beyond literature to social issues, including temperance and women's education.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Miss Frances Wyman Tracy,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Miss Elizabeth Brinley,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Rev. Stephen Jewitt, D.D.,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Caleb Hazen Talcott,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

In Memoriam. - Hon. Thomas S. Williams,

Late Chief Justice of Connecticut, died at Hartford, on Sunday morning, December 15th, 1861, aged 84.


                    'Tis not for pen and ink,
Or the weak measures of the muse, to give
Fit transcript of his virtues who hath risen
Up from our midst this day.

                    And yet 'twere sad
If such example were allow'd to fleet
Without abiding trace for those behind.
To stand on earth's high places, in the garb
Of Christian meekness, yet to comprehend
And track the tortuous policies of guile
With upright aim, and heart immaculate,
To pass just sentence on the wiles of fraud,
And deeds of wickedness, yet freshly keep
The fountain of good-will to all mankind,
To mark for more than fourscore years, a line
Of light without a mist, are v...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mr. Samuel Tudor,

Died at Hartford, January 29th, 1862, aged 92.


We saw him on a winter's day,
    Beneath the hallowed dome,
Where for so many years his heart
    Had found its Sabbath-home,
Yet not amid his ancient seat
    Or in the accustomed place
Arose his fair, and reverend brow,
    And form of manly grace.

Then Music, through the organ's soul
    Melodious descant gave,
But yet his voice so rich and sweet
    Swell'd not the sacred stave,
The Christmas wreaths o'er arch and nave
    Were lingering still to cheer
His parting visit to the fane
    Which he had help'd to rear.

And flowers were on the coffin-lid
    And o'er his bosom strown,
Fit offering for the friend who loved
    The plants of every zone,
And bade them i...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mr. John Warburton,

Died at Hartford, November, 1861.


The knot of crape upon yon stately door,
And sadness brooding o'er the sun-bright halls,
What do they signify?
                    Death hath been there
Where truth and goodness hand in hand with love
Walk'd for so many years.
                    Death hath been there,
To do mid flowing tears his mighty work,
Extinguishing the tyranny of pain
And taking the immortal essence home
Where it would be.
                    Yet is there left behind
A transcript that we cherish, and a chasm
We have no power to fill. Almost it seems
That we beheld him still, with quiet step
Moving among us, saintly and serene,
Clear-sighted, upright, held in high regard,
Yet meekly unambitious, seeking nought
Of windy honor f...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Colonel Samuel Colt,

Died at Hartford, on Friday morning, January 10th, 1862.


And hath he fallen,--whom late we saw
    In manly vigor bold?
That stately form,--that noble face,
    Shall we no more behold?--
Not now of the renown we speak
    That gathers round his name,
For other climes beside our own
    Bear witness to his fame;

Nor of the high inventive power
    That stretched from zone to zone,
And 'neath the pathless ocean wrought,--
    For these to all are known;--
Nor of the love his liberal soul
    His native City bore,
For she hath monuments of this
    Till memory is no more;

Nor of the self-reliant force
    By which his way he told,
Nor of the Midas-touch that turn'd
    All enterprise to gold,
And made the indignan...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mr. John A. Taintor,

Died at Hartford, on Saturday Evening, November 15th, 1862, aged 62 years.


A sense of loss is on us. One hath gone
    Whose all-pervading energy doth leave
A void and silence 'mid the haunts of men
    And desolation for the hearts that grieve
In his fair mansion, so bereft and lone,
Whence the inspiring smile, and cheering voice have flown.

Those too there are who eloquently speak
    Of his firm friendship, not without a tear,
Of its strong power to undergird the weak
    And hold the faltering feet in duty's sphere,
While in the cells of want, a broken trust
In bitterness laments, that he is of the dust.

In foreign climes, with patriotic eye
    He sought what might his Country's welfare aid,
And the rich flocks of Spain, at his behest

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Rev. Dr. James W. Alexander,

Pastor of the Fifth Avenue Church, New York, died at the Virginia Springs, July, 1859.


The great and good. How startling is the knell
That tells he is but dust.
                    The echo comes
From where Virginia's health-reviving springs
Make many whole. But waiting there for him
The dark-winged angel who doth come but once,
Troubled the waters, and his latest breath
Fled, where his first was drawn.
                    That noble brow
So mark'd with intellect, so clear with truth,
Grave in its goodness, in its love serene,
Will it be seen no more?
                    That earnest voice
Filling the Temple-arch so gloriously,
With themes of import to the undying soul
Enforced by power of fervid eloquence
Is it forever mute?
            ...

Lydia Howard Sigourney