In Memoriam. - Miss Elizabeth Brinley,

Died at Hartford, September 28th, 1862.


We miss her at the chancel-side,
    For when we last drew near,
The holy Eucharist to share,
She, with the warmth of praise and prayer
    Was meekly kneeling here.

We miss her when the liberal hand
    Relieves a thirsting soil,
And when the Blessed Church demands
Assistance for the mission bands
    That on her frontier toil.

We miss her 'mid the gather'd train
    Of children[1] young and poor,
Whom year by year she deign'd to teach
With faithful zeal and patient speech,
    And hope that anchor'd sure.

Her couch is in the ancestral tomb
    With Putnam's honor'd dust,
The true in word, the bold in deed,
A bulwark in his Country's need,
    A tower of strength and trust.

Her spirit's home is with her Lord,
    Whom from her youth she sought,
The miss'd below hath found above
The promise of a God of Love
    Made to the pure in thought.

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 Alice Beckwith,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Madam Olivia Phelps,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Charles N. Cadwallader,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Madam Williams,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

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In Memoriam. - Mrs. Elizabeth Harris,

Died at Hartford, Sunday evening, September 9th, 1860, aged 80.


Oh sorrowing Daughter, left alone
    In home's deserted sphere,
Where every object group'd around,
In pleasant room, or garden's bound
Is twined by links of sight or sound
    With the lost Mother dear;

Yet take sweet thoughts thy grief to soothe
    Of what she was below,
Her years to faithful duty given,
Her comfort in the Book of Heaven,
Her ready trust when life was riven,
    To Christ, her Lord, to go.

And take sweet memories of the care
    That smoothed her couch of pain,
The grateful love that o'er her way
Kept tender vigil, night and day,
And let its pure, reflected ray
    Thy drooping heart sustain.

So shall thy faith the pang assuage
...

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. - Miss. Emily B. Parish,

Formerly a Teacher in Hartford, died at Cleveland, Ohio, March 12th, 1862.


Teachers,--she is not here
    With the first breath of Spring
Her aid to your devoted band
With cheering smile and ready hand
    Untiringly to bring.

Pupils,--her guiding voice,
    Her sweetly warbled strain
Urging your spirits to be wise
With daily, tuneful harmonies
    Ye shall not hear again.

Parents,--and loving friends
    The parents' heart who shared,
Give thanks to that abounding grace
Which led her through the Christian race,
    To find its high reward.

Lover,--the spell is broke
    That o'er your life she wove,
Look to her flitting robes that gleam
So white, beyond cold Jordan's stream,
    Look to the Land of Love.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Miss Laura Kingsbury,

Died at Hartford, July, 1861.


Faithful and true in duty's sacred sphere,
    How like the summer-lightning hath she fled!
One moment bending o'er the letter'd page,--
    The next reposing with the silent dead.

No more by shaded lamp, or garden fair;--
    Yet hath she left a living transcript here,
Yon helpless orphans will remember her,[1]
    And the young invalid she skilled to cheer;

And he who trusted in her from his birth,
    As to a Mother's love,--and friends who saw
Her goodness seeking no applause from earth,
    But ever steadfast to its heavenly law:

For she, like her of old, with listening ear
Sate at the Saviour's feet and won His plaudit dear.

Lydia Howard Sigourney

In Memoriam. - Mrs. Emily Ellsworth,

Wife of Govenor ELLSWORTH, and daughter of Noah Webster, LL.D., died at Hartford, August 23d, 1861.


Not with the common forms of funeral grief
We mourn for her who in the tomb this day
Taketh her narrow couch. For we have need
Of such example as she set us here,
The sphere of christian duty beautified
By gifts of intellect, and taste refined;
A precious picture, set in frame of gold
And hung on high.

                    Hers was a life that bore
The test of scrutiny, and they who saw
Its inner ministration, day by day,
Bore fullest witness to its symmetry,
Its delicate tissues, and unwavering crown
Of piety. A heritage of fame,
And the rich culture of her early years
Wrought no contempt for woman's household care,
But gave it dignity. Or...

Lydia Howard Sigourney