The Death of Stephen

With awful dread his murderers shook,
As, radiant and serene,
The lustre of his dying look
Was like an angel's seen;
Or Moses' face of paly light,
When down the mount he trod,
All glowing from the glorious sight
And presence of his God.
To us, with all his constancy,
Be his rapt vision given,
To look above by faith, and see
Revealments bright of heaven.
And power to speak our triumphs out,
As our last hour draws near,
While neither clouds of fear nor doubt
Before our view appear.