Those witnesses malign who had forsworn Stephen to this, were first to cast at him The stone to slay. There Stephen stood, his face, His glory-smitten face, upturned to heaven, And his arms thither raised as if to meet The down-stretched arms of Jesus from on high. It was a sight both beautiful to see And piteous. The angels might have wept, Who saw it, but that they more deeply saw, And saw the pity in the beauty lost, Like a few drops of water on a fire That only serve to feed the flames more bright. At the first shower of stones at him with cry Of self-exciting execration flung, Stephen, with answering cry, as if of one Running to refuge and to sanctuary, Betook him to the covert of the Wings That trembled with desire to be outstretched Once over doomed Jerusalem unfain, And, "Jesus, Lord, receive my spirit!" said. That his friends heard and echoing said "Amen!" But they the flying stones saw not, nor saw Alight the flying stones upon their friend; For they too turned their faces upward all, And, gazing unimaginable depths Beyond the seen, beheld the glory there, Wherein the scandal and the mystery Of visible things vanished, like shadows plunged In the exceeding brightness of the sun, Or were transformed to make the glory more, Like discords conquered heightening harmony. With the next flight of stones, unwatched likewise, Stephen, raised far above the fierce effect, Stinging or stunning, of the cruel blows, Spoke heavenward once again, not for himself Petitioning now, but pleading for his foes. His foes already had prevailed to bring The martyr to his knees, and, on his knees, With loud last voice from lips inviolate yet-- As if that angel chant at Bethlehem Still sounded, "Peace on earth, good will to men," Or that diviner tone from Calvary, "Forgive them, for they know not what they do"-- One ransomed pure and perfect human note Threading the dissonant noise with melody-- He prayed, "Lord Jesus, lay not Thou this sin To their account." Therewith he fell asleep. That holy prayer exhaled his breath away, And on his breath exhaled to heaven in prayer His spirit thither aspired and was with Christ. As Stephen fell asleep, the sun went down; But over Olivet the great full moon Rose brightening. 'So,' thought Stephen's friends of him, 'His life has been extinguished to our eyes, Only elsewhere to shine, but while we wait For the new day to dawn that lingers, lo, His memory instead shall give us light, Not splendid like the sun, yet like the moon Lovely!'