Lydia Sigourney

“ Do ye say she is poor, in this land of the free,
And that all her votaries are poor as she?
It may he so! it may be so!
Yet hath she a dowry most rich and proud,
A castle that floats on the crimson cloud,
Clear sunshine within, when the storm is loud,
And a shield of diamond to foil the foe.
Do ye say she is light in the world's esteem,—
Like a puff of air, or a fairy-dream?—
It may be so! it may be so!
Yet hath she an honour more high and dear,
From the burning lips of the heaven-taught seer,
From the harp of Zion that charm'd the ear ”

“ PSALM CXIX.
"Unless thy law had been my delight, I should then have perished in my affliction."
HAD not thy righteous law been my delight,
When friends forsook and earthly comforts fled,
And cruel foes display'd their envious spite,
Most surely I had sunk among the dead,
And cold oblivion's dew had rested on my head.
Yet still I live, Oh, let my praise arise,
To Him who, cloth'd with majesty and might,
And seated in his temple of the skies,
Sends gifts to man, with peace, and life, and light ”

“ GREAT Soul, and brave, 'tis good to think of thee,
And with a filial reverence raise the veil
From patriot valor, that ne'er sought of Fame
Her clarion-payment.
See we not again,
The unfinished furrow, the forsaken home,
The flying steed, urg'd by thy sleepless heart
That throbb'd indignant o'er a smother'd found,
The cry of Lexington?
That echoed cry
Rous'd a young nation from its lingering sleep
To rush against the force of tyrant power,
Time-consecrated, and with fling and stone
Defy the giant. ”

“ We shall soon sleep in that grave, to which thou art hastening."
"Whither I go, ye know," answered the same sweet, solemn voice, "and the way ye know. Hope in Him whom ye have believed. Like me, ye must soon slumber in the dust; but His power shall raise ye up at the last day. The Eternal, in whose sight shades of complexion, and distinctions of rank are as nothing. He who looketh only upon the heart, bless you for your love to the outcast, and lead you to that abode, where all which is benevolent, and pure shall be gathered, and sundered no more." ”

“ Nor does love falter, though its gifts involve sacrifices. The young bride leaves the hearthstone of her earliest remembrances, and lifts her timid brow in the home of strangers, or follows her chosen protector to a wild land, and uninhabited, willingly trusting to him, her "all of earth, perchance, her all of heaven." The mother grudges not the pang, the faded bloom, the weary night-watchings with which she rears her infant. Must an earthly love ever transcend that which is divine? ”

“ Shall wake your minds to blossoming,
May their unfolding germs disclose
More than the fragrance of the rose,
More than the brightness of the stream,
That through green shades, with sparkling gleam
In purity and peace doth glide
On to the ocean's mighty tide.
—The country too, which gave you birth,
That freest, happiest clime of earth,
To all, to each, with fervor cries,
"Child! for my sake,—be good, be wise.
Seek knowledge, and with studious pain,
Resolve her priceless gold to gain. ”

“ ON SEEING THE MOON ATTENDED BY A SOLITARY STAR, JUST BEFORE SUN-RISE.
LEAVING the cell of her companion, night,
She sought her bow'r which vestal lamps adorn,
But paus'd, and stay'd, and linger'd in her flight,
To change stol'n glances with the youthful morn.
All unattended too, she chose to tread,
Save that one solitary star was seen,
Darkly to wrap a mantle o'er its head,
And page the mystic footsteps of the queen.
Her veil was all undrawn, her eye was fair,
But ah! her cheek grew pale, her lustre dim ”

“ When, shall we all meet again?
When the watch of time is sped,
When its beacon-fires are dead,
When our sails no more are furl'd
From the tempests of the world,
And no more, expanding wide,
Woo its gales of joy or pride,
When those ties the heart that sway,
Pass, like smoking flax away,
When the judgment-seat is set,
When the tribes of earth are met,
When those Books, whose awful scroll
Seal the sentence of the soul,
Ope,—for endless bliss, or pain ”

“ There is a hand that writes vanity upon every mortal possession and hope. There is a touch colder than marble, which freezes the illusions of fancy. There is a power that severs the close woven web of man's felicity, and cuts the strong Cordage of the heart. He struggles awhile against that dart which pierces to "the dividing asunder of soul and spirit;" and, forgetful that he is of the dust, shudders at the voice which proclaims, "unto dust shalt thou return."
Real benevolence imparts willingly, and is thankful to Him who furnishes an opportunity of so doing. ”

“ Had stamp'd upon those features, and the mind,
The ethereal mind debased.—
—She too was near,
Who at God's altar gave her holiest vow
In all the trusting confidence of love
To this her chosen friend.—On her young cheek
There was a cankering grief,—and the pale trace
Of beauty's rosebud nipp'd.—
—Something I said,
But faint and brokenly of former days,
When in the paths of science and of hope,
We walk'd, twin-hearted.—Then there came a peal
Of vacant laughter from those bloated lips,
And the swoll'n hand with trembling haste was stretch'd
For friendship's grasp. ”

“ To bear the loss of children with submission, requires the strong, exercise of a christian's faith. It seems to contradict the course of nature, that the young and blooming should descend to the tomb, before the aged and infirm. We expect to see the unfolding of a bud which we have watched till it had burst its sheath, trembling with joy and beauty, as it first met the sunbeam. "These same shall comfort us, concerning, all our toil," is the voice in the heart of every parent, who contemplates the children, for whom he has laboured and prayed. ”

“ But she dared not trust her voice beyond a whisper, lest it should yield wholly to her emotion. After her services were completed, she lingered, as if unwilling to leave the pillow of the sufferer.
"Mother!" said the broken voice, "kind, tender mother, go to thy rest. Oriana hath now no pain. Sleep will descend upon her. She will not leave thee this night. But soon she must begin her journey to the land of souls. What then? She hath hope in her death, to pass from darkness to eternal sunshine. Weep not, mother! but lift your heart to the Father of consolation. ”

“ ON THE DEATH OF A MOTHER, SOON AFTER HER INFANT SON.
There's a cry from that cradle-bed,
The voice of an infant's woe;
Hark! hark! to the mother's rushing tread,
In her bosom's fold she hath hid his head,
And his wild tears cease to flow.
Yet he must weep again,
And when his eye shall know
The burning brine of manhood's pain
Or youth's unuttered woe,
That mother fair
With her full tide of sympathies, alas! may not be there.
On earth, the tree of weeping grows
Fast by man's side where'er he goes,
And o'er his brightest joys, its bitterest essence flows. ”

“ Yet his heart is soft, when he sees one so young, and beautiful, falling like the green leaf before the blast. Zachary is old, but his mind is selfish. He had desired to look on thy brow, during the short space that he hath yet to measure. He hath prayed the Eternal, that his ears might continue to hear thy voice; for it was sweet to them. His heart wished to have something to love, which should not be as himself, every day decaying like the tree stripped of its branches, and mouldering at the root. But he must humble his heart. Thou hast told him that God giveth grace unto the humble. ”

“ And nature rose from sleep,
And lo, this firm and solid earth
Sprang from the liquid deep.
He spake—and light's transparent ray
Silver'd each sparkling wave;
He spake—and twilight led the day,
To Ocean's silent cave:
And darkness rais'd his giant size,
Deep frowning in his might,
While thousand, thousand starry eyes
Look'd from the cell of night.
The day-star and the trembling morn
Seem'd hand in hand to move,
While morning matins tun'd the harps
Of Seraphim above.
The earth with herbs, and plants, and flow'rs,
Luxuriantly was drest ”

“ Guided the weary needle.
But in vain
We stand communing with the faithless tomb
That cast thee forth.—The strong-cemented rock
Lays claim to immortality,—but dust
Man's dust, must yield each element a part,
To pay Creation's loan, nor can he cling
To the brief memory of a shadowy race,
Save through his deeds.—
O Woman, nurse of Man!—
Make not thy grave beneath the imposing arch,
Or the drear pyramid;—enshrine thyself
Amid thy buried virtues, in the heart
Of him who loves thee, make thy monument
The graces of thine offspring, and the thanks
Of all who mourn. ”

“ Martha covered her face with her hands, and hid it on the couch, fearful lest she might see agony in one so beloved. Yet she fixed on that pallid countenance another long, tender gaze, as the expiring voice said—
"I go, where is no shade of complexion—no trace of sorrow. I go to meet my parents, who died in faith; my Edward, whose trust was in his Redeemer. I shall see thy daughter, and she will be my sister, where all is love. Father! Mother! that God, whom you have learned to worship, whose spirit dwells in your hearts, guide you thither also." ”