In Memoriam. - Martha Agnes Bonner,

Child of RobERT BONNER, Esq., died at New York, April 28th, 1859, aged 13 months.


There was a cradling lent us here,
    To cheer our lot,
It was a cherub in disguise,
But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes
    Perceiv'd it not.

Its voice was like the symphony
    That lute-strings lend,
Yet tho' our hearts the music hail'd
As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd
    To comprehend.

It linger'd till each season fill'd
    Their perfect round,
The vernal bud, the summer-rose,
Autumnal gold, and wintry snows
    Whitening the ground.

But when again reviving Spring
    Thro' flowers would roam,
And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd
Neath the soft wing of chirping bird,
A call from angel-harps was heard,
    "Cherub,--come home."

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. - Caleb Hazen Talcott,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Henrietta Selden Colt,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

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

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Miss Anna M. Seymour,

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. - Richard Ely Collins,

Son of Mr. MORRIS COLLINS, died at Wethersfield, September 5th, 1862, aged 3 months and 27 days.


It was a sad and lovely sight
    They call'd us to behold,
That infant forehead high and fair,
Those beauteous features sculptured rare,
    Yet breathless all, and cold.

Heard it in dreams, an angel voice
    Soft as the zephyr's tone?
The yearning of a Mother mild
To clasp once more her three months' child
    But a few days her own?

Just a few days of wasting pain
    She linger'd by its side,
And then consign'd to stranger arms
The frail unfolding of the charms
    She would have watch'd with pride.

Yet happy babe! to reach a home
    Beyond all sorrowing cares,
Where none a Mother's loss can moan
Or seek for bread,...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Margaret Walbridge,

Died at Saratoga, N.Y., June 2d, 1862, aged 35.

WRITTEN ON HER BIRTH-DAY.


This was her birth-day here,
    When summer's latest flowers
Were kindling to their flush and prime,
As if they felt how short the time
    In these terrestrial bowers.

She hath a birth-day now
    No hastening night that knows,
She hath a never-ending year
Which feels no blight of autumn sere,
    Nor chill of wintry snows.

She hath no pain or fear,
    But by her Saviour's side
Expansion finds for every power;
And knowledge her angelic dower
    An ever-flowing tide.

They sorrow, who were called
    From her sweet smile to part,
Who wore her love-links fondly twined
Like woven threads of gold refined
    Around their inmost ...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Frederick Tyler,

Died at Hartford, Wednesday, June 19th, 1861.


They multiply above, with whom we walk'd
In tender friendship, and whose steadfast step,
Onward and upward, was a guide to us
In duty's path.

                    They multiply above,
Making the mansions that our Lord prepared
And promised His redeemed, more beautiful
To us, the wayside pilgrims.

                    One, this day
Hath gone, whose memory like a loving smile
Lingereth behind her. She was skilled to charm
And make her pleasant home a cloudless scene
Of happiness to children and to guests;
But most to him whose heart for many years
Did safely trust in her, finding his cares
Divided and his pleasures purified.
A sweet-voiced kindness, prompting word and deed,
Dwelt ever ...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Annie Seymour Robinson,

Daughter of LUCIUS F. ROBINSON and Mrs. ELIZA S. ROBINSON, died at Hartford, Wednesday, April 10th, 1861, aged 6 years and 2 months.


Dids't hear him call, my beautiful?--
    The Sire, so fond and dear
Who ere the last moon's waning ray,
Pass'd in his prime of days away,
    And hath not left his peer?

Say, beckoning from yon silver cloud
    Though none beside might see,
A hand that erst with love and pride
Its little daughter's steps would guide--
    Stretch'd out that hand for thee?

The wreathing buds of snowy rose
    That o'er thy bosom lay,
Were symbols in their beauty pale,
Of thy young life so sweet and frail,
    And all unstain'd as they.

Oh stricken hearts!--bear up,--bear on,--
    Think of your Saviour's grace,<...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Miss Jane Penelope Whiting,

Died at Portland, Connecticut, January 1st, 1861.


I think of her unfolding prime,
    Her childhood bright and fair,
The speaking eye, the earnest smile,
    The dark and lustrous hair,

The fondness by a Mother's side
    To cling with docile mind,
Fast in the only sister's hand
    Her own forever twined,

The candor of her trustful youth,
    The heart that freshly wove
Sweet garlands even from thorn-clad bowers,
    Because it dwelt in love,

The stainless life, whose truth and grace
    Made each beholder see
The gladness of a spirit tuned
    To heavenly harmony.

But when this fair New-Year looked forth
    Over the old one's grave,
While bridal pleasures neath her roof
    Their bright infusion gave,<...

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Henrietta Selden Colt,

Daughter of Col. SAMUEL and Mrs. ELIZABETH COLT, died January 20th, 1862, aged 7 months and 27 days.

THE MOURNING MOTHER.


A tomb for thee, my babe!
    Dove of my bosom, can it be?
But yesterday in all thy charms,
Laughing and leaping in my arms,
    A tomb and shroud for thee!

A couch for thee mine own,
    Beneath the frost and snow!
So fondly cradled, soft and warm,
And sheltered from each breath of storm,
    A wintry couch for thee!

Thy noble father's there,
    But the last week he died,
He would have stretched his guarding arm,
To shelter thee from every harm,
    Nestle thee to his side.

Thy ruby lip skill'd not
    That father's name to speak,
Yet wouldst thou pause mid infant play
To kiss his pi...

Lydia Howard Sigourney