Poetry for children :: :: University of Virginia Library

Poetry for children

Sigourney, L. H. (1791-1865)

JUVENILE POETRY.

“Who made me?”

I must not teaze my Mother.

Morning Thoughts.

Thoughts at Sun-set.

The Dove.

Love to Brothers and Sisters.

Prayer at entering School.

Respect to Age.

Early Rising.

The Garden.

The Sabbath.

The grave of a Child.

Hymn for the children of an Orphan Asylum.

Baby's note to a Baby with a pair of coral bracelets.

Baby to a Baby with a New-Year's Present.

Mother and Boy.

Child of sixteen months old to a Cousin in Boston.

A little Girl to a little Boy on his removal to New-York.

Little Girl to a little Girl, with a basket of wild flowers.

A little Girl to her friend, with a present of the Rev. Mr. Gallaudet's “Book of the Soul.”

Little Girl to her Pet Lamb.

The Bee and Butterfly.

Aunt Nancy and her Parrot.

The Rat.

Dialogue between the Canary and Humming Bird.

Thoughts among Flowers.

Letter from a little Western Emigrant Girl.

Cheerfulness.

Motto for a painted Work-Box.

Birth-Day Verses.

Dialogue between Orphan Sisters.

Winter Thoughts.

Intemperance.

Life.

Entrance to a Sunday School.

“He is about my path,—and about my bed.”

Moses.

Samuel.

The Almighty.

“He feedeth the young ravens that cry.”

An Emblem.

Sunday School Hymn.

A Scripture Story.

Christ blessing the Children.

Death of the youngest Child.

Praise for religious Instruction.

Funeral Hymn for a Sunday School Scholar.

The First Martyr.

On a Child of two and a half years old, who wiped the tears of his Father with his dying hand.

The Infant's Prayer.

The Last Day in the Year.

New Year's Address to the Children of the United States.

Minerva's Prize.

A Mother's Grave.

A Prayer.

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Respect to Age.

When leaning on the staff
Amid the crowded street,
With feeble step and wrinkled face
Some aged form I meet.

However poor and weak,
Or ignorant and low,
I must respect their hoary hairs,
For God has told me so.

I love to see the hair
All venerably grey,
A crown of glory 'tis to those
Who walk in Wisdom's way.

I love the reverend head,
With years and honors white,
'Tis like the ripened fruit of heav'n,
And angels bless the sight.