From Little Down To Least, In Due Degree, Around The Pastor, Each In New-Wrought Vest, Each With A Vernal Posy At His Breast, We Stood, A Trembling, Earnest Company! With Low Soft Murmur, Like A Distant Bee, Some Spake, By Thought-Perplexing Fears Betrayed; And Some A Bold Unerring Answer Made: How Fluttered Then Thy Anxious Heart For Me, Beloved Mother! Thou Whose Happy Hand Had Bound The Flowers I Wore, With Faithful Tie: Sweet Flowers! At Whose Inaudible Command Her Countenance, Phantom-Like, Doth Reappear: O Lost Too Early For The Frequent Tear, And Ill Requited By This Heartfelt Sigh!