In Memoriam. - Miss Caroline L. Griffin,

Died at New York, November 17th, 1861.

WRITTEN ON HER BIRTH-DAY.


The day returns, beloved friend
    When in thy Mother's arms
Thou a fair gift from Heaven wert laid
    In all thine infant charms,
That day, with cloudless sky returns,
    But yet thou art not here
And from the smitten Mother's eye
    Distils the mourner's tear.

The wondrous brightness of thy smile,
    Thy tones of greeting kind,
The love of knowledge that inspired
    Thy strong and ardent mind,
Thy pity for the suffering poor,
    Thy patient zeal to teach
Their children, though in manners rude
    And ignorant in speech,

And all thy many deeds and words
    Of friendship's earnest part,
Are with a never-fading trace
    Depictured on my heart.
But thou art with that Saviour dear
    Who was thine early choice,
And mid thy blooming youth didst bend
    A listener to His voice,

So thy firm faith without a fear
    Launch'd forth on Jordan's wave
The victor-palm-branch in thy hand
    That o'er stern Death He gave;
And may we meet, beloved friend
    At God's appointed day
Where every care and pain of earth
    Have fled like dreams away.

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. - Rev. Stephen Jewitt, D.D.,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Miss Frances Wyman Tracy,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Wentworth Alexander,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Frederick Tyler,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

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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. - Miss Anna M. Seymour,

Died at Hartford, August 24th, 1860.


The beauteous brow, the form of grace,
    With all their youthful charms,
The hand that woke the pencil's power,
And bore to penury's lowly bower,
    The never-wearied alms,

The sweet, sweet voice that duly cheer'd
    A grateful Sabbath train,
The uprais'd eye that taught them more
Of Heaven, than all their student lore,
    Must ne'er return again.

She took her flight as from the cage
    Enfranchised warblers glide,
Though friends were dear, and life was fair,
She saw her Saviour standing there,
    Beyond rough Jordan's tide.

Praise, praise to Him, whose faithful hand
    Prepared her glorious place,
For us is loss,--for her release,
The robe of rest, the home of peace,--

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Harvey Seymour,

Died at Hartford, Sunday, May 5th, 1861.


She found a painless avenue to make
The great transition from a world of care
To one of rest.
                    It was the Sabbath day,
And beautiful with smile of vernal sun
And the up-springing fragrance from the earth,
With all that soothing quietude which links
The consecrated season unto Him
Who bade the creatures He had made, revere
And keep it holy.
                    From her fair abode,
Lovely with early flowers, she took her way
The second time, unto the House of God,
And side by side with her life's chosen friend
Walk'd cheerfully. Within those hallow'd courts,
Where holds the soul communion with its God,
She listening sate.
                    But then she lean'd her head
Upon h...

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. - 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. - Mrs. Morris Collins,

Died at Hartford, May 19th, 1862.


Frail stranger at the gate of life,
    Too weak to grasp its key,
O'er whom the Sun on car of gold
Hath but a few times risen and roll'd,
    Unnoticed still by thee,--

To whom the toil of breath is new,
    In this our vale of time
Whose feet are yet unskill'd to tread
The grassy carpet round thee spread
    At the soft, vernal prime,--

Deep sympathy and pitying care
    Regard thy helpless moan,
And 'neath thy forehead arching high
Methinks, the brightly opening eye
    Doth search for something gone.

Yon slumberer 'mid the snowy flowers,
    With young, unfrosted hair,
Awakes not at the mournful sound
Of bird-like voices murmuring round
    "Why sleeps our Mother there?<...

Lydia Howard Sigourney