To Peter by night the faithfullest came br And said, "We appeal to thee! br The life of the Church is in thy life; br We pray thee to rise and flee. br br "For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, br And his arm is heavy with power; br Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall, br If thou tarry in Rome an hour." br br Through the sleeping town Saint Peter passed br To the wide Campagna plain; br In the starry light of the Alban night br He drew free breath again: br br When across his path an awful form br In luminous glory stood; br His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, br Were wet with immortal blood. br br The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes br Seemed changed to a godlike wrath, br As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, br And sank to his knees in the path. br br "Lord of my life, my love, my soul! br Say, what wilt Thou with me?" br A voice replied, "I go to Rome br To be crucified for thee." br br The apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet, br The vision had passed away; br The light still lay on the dewy plain, br But the sky in the east was gray. br br To the city walls Saint Peter turned, br And his heart in his breast grew fire; br In every vein the hot blood burned br With the strength of one high desire. br br And sturdily back he marched to his death br Of terrible pain and shame; br And never a shade of fear again br To the stout apostle came.