Still rose that prayer, still gathering strength it rose,
“Have mercy on me,” its unvarying close.
That prayer was not unheard, for He, whose ear
Is ever open, now, Himself, drew near.
Now, now, Bartimeus, rise; He calleth thee;
“Be of good comfort, even thou mayst see;”
Quick, through the parting crowd, they guide his way
Till, suppliant, at the Saviour’s feet he lay,
On whose calm brow a shade of pity spread.
“What wouldst thou I should do for thee?” he said.