Polyeucte

POLY. Ah, how my heart quails at that single word! Thee, Felix, I o'ercame within my cell, Laughed at thy threats if death and torture fell; Yet hast thou still one arm to rouse my fears, The rest I scorn, but dread thy daughter's tears! One only talisman remains; great God, 'tis mine, Sufficient for my every need His strength divine!