In Memoriam. - Mrs. Charles N. Cadwallader,

Died at Philadelphia, July 2nd, 1859, five weeks after her marriage.


The year rolls round, and brings again
    The bright, auspicious day,
The marriage scene, the festive cheer,
    The group serenely gay,

The hopes that nurs'd by sun and shower
    O'er youth's fair trellis wound,
And in that consecrated rite
    Their full fruition found.

But One unseen amid the throng
    Drew near with purpose fell,
And lo! the orange-flowers were changed
    To mournful asphodel.

Five sabbaths walk'd the beautiful
    Her chosen lord beside,
But ere the sixth illumed the sky
    She was that dread One's bride.

Yet call her not the bride of Death
    Though in his bed she sleeps,
And broidering Myrtle richly green
    O'er her cold pillow creeps:

She hath a bower where angels dwell,
    A mansion with the blest,
For Jesus whom she trusted here,
    Receiv'd her to His rest.

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. - Richard Ely Collins,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Henrietta Selden Colt,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Rev. Dr. F. W. Hatch,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

In Memoriam. - Governor Joseph Trumbull,

Lydia Howard Sigourney, Simple Poetry

English

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In Memoriam. - Mrs. Georgiana Ives Comstock,

Died at Hartford, April 30th, 1861, aged 22.


I saw a brilliant bridal.
                    All that cheers
And charms the leaping heart of youth was there;
And she, the central object of the group,
The cherished song-bird of her father's house,
Array'd in beauty, was the loved of all.
Would I could tell you what a world of flowers
Were concentrated there--how they o'erflow'd
In wreaths and clusters--how they climb'd and swept
From vase to ceiling, with their gay festoons
Whispering each other in their mystic lore
Of fragrance, and consulting how to swell,
As best they might, the tide of happiness.

A few brief moons departed and I sought
The same abode. There was a gather'd throng
Beyond the threshold stone. A few white flowers
Crept o'er...

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. - 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. - 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. - 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. - Colonel H. L. Miller,

Died at Hartford, December 30th, 1861.


Sorrow and Joy collude. One mansion hears
The children shouting o'er their Christmas Tree,
While in the next resound the widow's wail
And weeping of the fatherless. So walk
Sickness and health. One rounds the cheek at morn,
The other with a ghost-like movement glides
Unto the nightly couch, and lo! the wheels
Of life drive heavily, and all its springs
Revolving in mysterious mechanism
Are troubled.
                    And how slight the instrument
That sometimes sends the strong man to his tomb,
Revealing that the glory of his prime,
Is as the flower of grass.

                    Of this we thought
When looking on the face that lay so calm
And comely in its narrow coffin-bed,
Remembering how th...

Lydia Howard Sigourney