In Christ’s dear name I bid the tempter flee,
     His foes are mine,—­unlovely in my sight. 
     The mighty from their seat He hurls beneath His feet,
     His fan is in His hand, His vengeful sword is bright. 
     Their crown
     Cast down. 
     All hopes most dear
     They cherish here
     Shall end in night. 
     O Decius!  Tiger!  Pitiless!  Athirst
     With quenchless rage, for blood of Christ’s redeemed—­
     Armenia shall arise, by thee accursed,
     On her at last has Light of Asia beamed,
     And our Deliverer from the holy east
     Shall dash the cup from thy Belshazzar feast! 
     Secure,
     And pure,
     Christ’s saints shall reign,
     And, purged by pain,
     For aye endure! 
     Let Felix sacrifice me to thine ire,
     Yea, let my rival captivate the soul
     Of her who now with Decius doth conspire
     To chain immortal hope to earthly goal;
     Let earth-bound men pursue the world’s desire,
     Sense charms not him who doth to Heaven aspire! 
     Hail pain! 
     Disdain
     All Earthly love,
     To seek above
     A holier fire! 
     Oh, Love that passeth knowledge be my stay,
     And fire my heart to beat alone for thee! 
     Sun of my soul?—­oh, flash one purest ray
     In that last hour supreme—­to comfort me,
     So life’s brief night shall merge in endless day! 
     Come, Death! 
     Last breath
     Shall praise thy name,
     The same, the same,
     For aye!  For aye! 
     O heavenly fire, most pure, embracing all,
     Come, shield me from Pauline, else must I fall! 
     I see her, but no more as once I saw—­
     I am encased in armour without flaw: 
     To eyes that gaze alone on heavenly light,
     Naught else is pure, or dear, or fair, or bright!

     (Enter Pauline)

     With what intent, Pauline, hast thou come here? 
     Have I a friend to aid, or foe to fear? 
     Is it Christ’s soldier that thou com’st to greet? 
     Or wouldst thou sink my triumph in defeat? 
     If thou wouldst bid me spurn the debt I owe,
     Not Decius, but Pauline, my deadliest foe!

     Paul. 
     All, save thyself, to thee, my love, are friends: 
     Love but thyself, love me,—­thy torment ends. 
     Alone thou seal’st thy doom, alone wouldst shed
     That blood by all Armenia honoured. 
     Yes, thou art saved, if thou for mercy plead;
     Demand thy death, and thou are lost indeed. 
     Think of the worth of this self-hated life,
     And think in pity of Pauline,—­thy wife! 
     Think of the people that their prince adores,
     Think of the honours Felix on thee pours! 
     Oh, I am nothing, nothing unto thee,
     But, husband, think how dear thou art to me! 
     Think how the path of glory on thee opes,
     Thou dearest lodestar of a nation’s hopes! 
     Shall blood of kings be but the headsman’s sport? 
     Is life a toy wherewith thy death to court?