Poly. 
     Go, we do follow thee!

     Paul. 
     I cannot go;
     Severus flies my sight; to him I owe
     My absence—­not, alas! to him alone! 
     Go thou, and oh, remember he is great;
     In his sole hands Severus holds thy fate!

     Poly. 
     A foe so great, so noble, is a friend,
     Oh, not from him the lance that Heaven will send!

     Exeunt Pauline, Stratonice and Cleon.

     Near. 
     Where go’st thou?

     Poly. 
     To the temple is the call.

     Near. 
     What!  Wouldst thou mingle in their heathen brawl? 
     Thou art a Christian, and canst thou forget?

     Poly. 
     Canst thou, who fore mine eyes the cross didst set?

     Near. 
     Not mine their gods!

     Poly. 
     He calls me!  I must go!

     Near. 
     I fly their altars!

     Poly. 
     I would overthrow! 
     Not mine to fly a worship I disown,
     By me Jehovah, King of kings, be known! 
     Not mine to tremble as I kiss the rod! 
     I conquer by the Cross, I fight for God! 
     Thou wouldst abstain!  For me another course
     From Heaven the call, and Heaven will give the force! 
     What!  Yield to evil!  His Cross on my brow! 
     His freemen we!  O fight, Nearchus, now! 
     For us our Lord was scourged, pierced, tortured, slain! 
     For us He bled!  Say, has He died in vain?

     Near. 
     Let timely moderation temper zeal!

     Poly. 
     His—­His alone am I!  His woe my weal!

     Near. 
     In love with death?

     Poly. 
     For Him I love I die! 
     He died for me!  So death is victory!

     Near. 
     Thy flesh is weak!

     Poly. 
     Yet He will make me bold!

     Near. 
     And if thou waver?

     Poly. 
     He will me uphold!

     Near. 
     To tempt the Lord thy God were an offence.

     Poly. 
     He is my shield—­hence! cursed tempter, hence!

     Near. 
     In time of need the faith must be confessed.

     Poly. 
     The offering grudged is sacrifice unblessed.

     Near. 
     Seek thou the death thine own self-will prepares!

     Poly. 
     A crown I seek, which every martyr shares!

     Near. 
     A life of duty well that crown can win.

     Poly. 
     The purest life on earth is stained with sin. 
     Why yield to time and chance what death assures? 
     Death but the gate of life that aye endures. 
     If I be His—­let me be His alone! 
     The faith that soars shall full fruition own;
     Who trusts, yet fears and doubts, his faith is dead!