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Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 4 4 Browse Search
Knight's Mechanical Encyclopedia (ed. Knight) 2 0 Browse Search
Historic leaves, volume 2, April, 1903 - January, 1904 2 0 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 1, Colonial and Revolutionary Literature: Early National Literature: Part I (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 1 1 Browse Search
Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 11. 1 1 Browse Search
Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 16. 1 1 Browse Search
Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 20. 1 1 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: March 27, 1861., [Electronic resource] 1 1 Browse Search
The Daily Dispatch: October 12, 1861., [Electronic resource] 1 1 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 16.. You can also browse the collection for Sigourney or search for Sigourney in all documents.

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Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 16., Distinguished guests and residents of Medford. (search)
nd repeatedly as chaplain to various bands of New Hampshire soldiers in the Revolution. He had four sons in the Continental Army, three of whom gave their lives to the colonists' cause. He was present at the Battle of Bunker Hill and knelt and prayed with head uncovered and with uplifted hands, for the success of his country during the raging of the battle and the flying of the bullets. (See Medford Historical Register, Vol. VIII, No. 1, p. 23.) This incident has been commemorated by Mrs. Sigourney in the following poem:— It was an hour of fear and dread— High rose the battle-cry, And round, in heavy volume, spread The war cloud to the sky. 'Twas not, as when in rival strength Contending nations meet, Or love of conquest madly hurls A monarch from his seat: Yet one was there, unused to tread The path of mortal strife, Who but the Saviour's flock had fed Beside the fount of life. He knelt him where the black smoke wreathed— His head was bowed and bare,— While for an infant land