St. Stephens Day

As rays around the source of light Stream upward ere he glow in sight, And watching by his future flight Set the clear heavens on fire; So on the King of Martyrs wait Three chosen bands, in royal state, And all earth owns, of good and great, Is gather'd in that choir. One presses on, and welcomes death: One calmly yields his willing breath, Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith Content to die or live: And some, the darlings of their Lord, Play smiling with the flame and sword, And, ere they speak, to His sure word Unconscious witness give. Foremost and nearest to His throne, By perfect robes of triumph known, And likest Him in look and tone, The holy Stephen kneels, With steadfast gaze, as when the sky Flew open to his fainting eye, Which, like a fading lamp, flash'd high, Seeing what death conceals. Well might you guess what vision bright Was present to his raptured sight, E'en as reflected streams of light Their solar source betray - The glory which our God surrounds, The Son of Man, the atoning wounds - He sees them all; and earth's dull bounds Are melting fast away. He sees them all--no other view Could stamp the Saviour's likeness true, Or with His love so deep embrue Man's sullen heart and gross - "Jesus, do Thou my soul receive: Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive;" He who would learn that prayer must live Under the holy Cross. He, though he seem on earth to move, Must glide in air like gentle dove, From yon unclouded depths above Must draw his purer breath; Till men behold his angel face All radiant with celestial grace, Martyr all o'er, and meet to trace The lines of Jesus' death.