Paul. 
     O cruel!  I can strangle pain no more! 
     Is this the fruit of all thy heavenly lore? 
     They say thy Christ His enemies did bless,
     Thou addest insult to my deep distress. 
     How is my soul so dark—­which was so fair?—­
     Thou call’dst me ’lovely’—­’dear’—­’beyond compare!’—­
     Of my bereavement have I said no word,
     I stilled my grief that I might soothe my lord! 
     They say that love has wings, and all they say is true,
     For all thy love has flown; yet can I ne’er undo
     The vows I made, the troth I plighted binds me still! 
     Thou fain wouldst quit thy wife, and thou shalt have thy will. 
     Oh, but to leave my side with rapture, ecstasy,
     No jealous Christ can will:  why grudge me one poor sigh? 
     This joy, this transport fierce, endeavour to conceal. 
     I do not share thy creed, but I, at least, can feel! 
     Why gloat o’er heavenly gain, crowns, palms, I know not what—­
     Where Polyeucte is blest, but where Pauline is not? 
     Soul, body, spirit, I am thy true wife, to own
     That I am but a bar to happiness unknown!

     Poly. 
     Alas!

     Paul. 
     O! that ’Alas!’—­so faint, so tame! 
     Yet, if repentant from thy heart it came,
     ’Twould waken hope, still brief, and banish fears: 
     I wait the birth of thy reluctant tears.

     Poly. 
     These tears I shed!  O, might the Spirit pour
     Through them the light, the light that I adore—­
     Then were my only grief all swept away,
     For thou wouldst join me in the realms of day! 
     Else Heaven itself would have its bitterness,
     Should I look down to witness thy distress! 
     O God, who lov’st the dust on which Thy breath
     Hath stamped Thine image true—­save her from death! 
     The only death that kills, and let my love
     From Heaven woo her to the realms above! 
     Lord, hear my call!  My inmost heart now see,
     Who lives a Christian life must Christian be! 
     Her nature god-like, stamped from print divine;
     She must be sealed Thine own, yes, only Thine! 
     Say, must she burn, condemned to depths of hell?—­
     Thy Will be done—­Who doest all things well!

     Paul. 
     O wretch, what words are these?  Thou dost desire——­

     Poly. 
     To snatch thee from a never-ending fire.

     Paul. 
     Or else?

     Poly. 
     O God, I trust to Thy control,
     Who when we think not, canst illume the soul! 
     The when—­the how—­is His—­here am I dumb,—­
     I wait—­I wait—­That blessed hour will come!

     Paul. 
     Oh, leave illusions!  Love me!

     Poly. 
     Thee I love
     Far more than self, but less than God above!