Near monologue — Polyeucte

He may--he must! 'Tis Christ says, "Love thy brother," Yet on the altar of the Heavenly King No rival place, no alien incense fling! Through Him--by Him--for Him--all goodness know! 'Tis from the source alone each stream must flow. To please Him, wife, and wealth, and rank, and state Must be forsaken--strait the heavenly gate. Poor silly sheep! afar you err and stray From Him who is The Life, The Truth, The Way! My grief chokes utterance! I see your fate, As round the fold the hungry wolves of hate Closer and fiercer rage: from sword and flame One shelter for His flock--one only Name! The Cross alone our victor over fears, Not this thy strength,--thy plea--a woman's tears!