The Miracle, and Other Poems

E-text prepared by Al Haines, Victoria, B.C., Canada, January 2004
1913
No tears for thee, no tears, or sighs, Or breaking heart— But smiles, that thou so well that bitter hour Didst play thy part!
Up from the templed city of the Jews, The road ran straight and white To Jericho, the City of the Palms, The City of Delight.
Down that still road from far Judean hills The shepherds drove their sheep At silver dawn—at stirring of the birds— When men were all asleep.
Full many went that weary way at noon, Or rested by the trees, Romans and slaves, Gentiles and bearded priests, Sinners and Pharisees.
But when the pink clouds drifted far and high, Like rose leaves blowing past, When in the west where one star blessed the sky The gates of day shut fast.
All travellers journeyed home, and the moonlight Washed the road fresh and sweet, Until it seemed a gleaming ivory path, Waiting for royal feet.

Now it was noon, and life at its full tide Rolled ever to and fro, A restless sea, between Jerusalem And white-walled Jericho.
Blind Bartimeus, by the highway side, Sat begging 'neath the trees, And heard the world go by, Gentiles and Jews, Sinners and Pharisees.
Blind Bartimeus of the mask-like face, And patient, outstretched hand— He upon whom his God had set a mark No man might understand;