BARTIMÆUS
Bartimæus at the highroad,
Begging from the passer by
Just enough to stop his hunger—
Hear him cry!
Blind is he and lone and ragged,
With no friendly hand to lead—
And the sky all blue above him!
Hear him plead.
There are olives and pomegranates
Green and gold among the hills,
Miles of vineyards through the valleys
Fed by rills.
In the distance is a city
Walled and white beneath the sun,
Domed and delicate with towers—
One by one
Rising up like fingers lifted
High in a perpetual prayer
To Jehovah God who pities
Want and care.
Near the blind man, gray and broken
Is an ancient olive-press—
Blue and scarlet blossoms give it
Tenderness,
Weave a spell of summer-beauty
On each stained and splintered stone,
Give the pile a royal grandeur
Of a throne.
On the road are many people—
Laughing as they hurry down
To the little homes that wait them
In the town.
Comes a merchant on his camel—
Silk from Araby he sells:
Listen to the rhythmic clangour
Of the bells!