Blind Bartimeus by the road-side waits
In anguish mute and trembling, when, O joy!
The bringer of glad tidings is at hand:
“Be of good comfort, rise, he calleth thee!”
O weary, heavy-laden one, whose eyes
Have long been sightless to behold the truth,—
Perchance in darkness walking even now,
And longing with an aching heart for light,—
The Master’s message echoes sweetly still:
“Be of good comfort, rise, He calleth thee.”