Near monologue — Polyeucte

How grant you know not what? Are you assured Of constancy?--as one who has endured? God claims your soul for Him!--Now! Now! To-day! The fruit to-morrow yields--oh, who shall say? Our God is just, but do His grace and power Descend on recreants with equal shower? On darkened souls His flame of light He turns, Yet flame neglected soon but faintly burns, And dying embers fade to ashes cold If we the heart His spirit wooes withhold. Great Heaven retains the fire no longer sought, While ashes turn to dust, and dust to naught. His holy baptism He bids thee seek, Neglect the call, and the desire grows weak. Ah! whilst from woman's breast thou heedst the sighs, The flame first flickers, then, untended--dies!