contributions to three hundred periodicals. In her young womanhood she united with the Congregationalists, but after her marriage became attached to the Episcopal Church, the ritual of which "touched the finer chords of her responsive nature." Mrs. Sigourney was a distinguished philanthropist along the line of Christian endeavor, and the thought uppermost in her mind to the day she fell asleep — June 10, 1865 was to do somebody some good.

Her most popular hymn is one of beauty:

Blest Comforter Divine!

Whose rays of heavenly love
Amid our gloom and darkness shine,
And point our souls above;

Thou who with "still small voice,"
Dost stop the sinner's way,
And bid the mourning saint rejoice,
Though earthly joys decay;

Thou whose inspiring breath

Can make the cloud of care,
And e'en the gloomy vale of death
A smile of glory wear;

great

Thou who dost fill the heart
With love to all our race,
Blest Comforter! to us impart
The blessings of Thy grace.

This first came into use in 1824, and though it is a hymn of high rank it is omitted from several of the more prominent and recent hymnals. Mrs. Sigourney's hymn on "Home Missions" is inspiring and possesses good hymnic qualities. Nothing written in later years on that theme surpasses it:

Laborers of Christ, arise,

And gird you for the toil!
The dew of promise from the skies
Already cheers the soil.

Go where the sick recline,

Where mourning hearts deplore;
And where the sons of sorrow pine,
Dispense your hallowed store.

Urge, with a tender zeal,

The erring child along,

Where peaceful congregations kneel

And pious teachers throng.

Be faith, which looks above,

With prayer, your constant guest;
And wrap the Saviour's changeless love
A mantle round your breast.

So shall you share the wealth

That earth may ne'er despoil,

And the blest gospel's saving health
Repay your arduous toil.

As good as either of the two previous hymns is one for evening service which is full of tenderness:

Lord, the shades of night surround us,
Homeward come Thy wandering sheep,
Throw Thy sheltering arm around us,
Safe from every danger keep;
Poor and needy,

Oh, protect us while we sleep.

Praise we bring for every blessing,
O'er us, like the dew-drops shed,
May we, Thy rich grace possessing,
Rest in peace the weary head;
Holy Angels!

Fold your pinions round our bed.

When this day of life is ended,

When its hopes and fears are o'er,

By a Saviour's love befriended,
Guide us to the heavenly shore;
Oh, receive us,

Where the light shall fade no more.

Here is a little gem on "Faith," which I find only in the "Lyra Sacra Americana." It is worth memorizing as a daily help to practical faith:

Prayer is the dew of faith,

Its rain-drop, night and day,

That guards its vital power from death
When cherish'd hopes decay,
And keeps it 'mid this changeful scene
A bright, perennial evergreen.

Good works, of faith the fruit,
Should ripen year by year,

Of health and soundness at the root

An evidence sincere.

Dear Saviour! grant Thy blessing free,
And make our faith no barren tree.

Mrs. Sigourney placed a low estimate on many of her sacred poems: once she called them wild flowers which have sprung up in the dells or among the clefts of the rocks"; to which "The North Ameri

can Review" answered: "Her

poems will neither bloom like the wild flowers in the solitude, nor fade as soon; they will be more likely to be remembered among the lasting favorites of the garden."