Shoots the beauteous soul. This—this is dying!
Lo! the opening heavens with splendours rifted;
Lo! the palms that wait those hands uplifted;
And the fiery chariot cloud-descending,
And the legioned angels close attending!
Let his poor dust mingle with the embers,
While the crowd sweeps on, and none remembers;
Saints and angels through the Infinite glory,
Praising God, recount the martyr's story.
Thou, who through the trial-fires bewildering