Poem August 24, 1935 Issue

Bartimaeus

ELIZABETH B. CATE

Long had he sat there, a beggar,
Lonely, dejected, and blind.
Fiercely the sun shone upon him,
Hot blew the Syrian wind.
Oh, could I speak with the Prophet,
Preaching on Galilee's shore,
He, in his tender compassion,
Even my sight might restore.
What is that tumult? He listened,
For they were shouting a name.
Jesus of Nazareth passeth!
Starting, his cheeks leaped aflame.
Thou son of David, have mercy;
Mercy, I pray thee, he cried.
Silence! the people commanded;
Silence! and thrust him aside.
Hark! 'tis the Prophet that calls him!
Eager the multitude stand.
Loosing his garment, the beggar
Speeds o'er the glistening sand.
Kindly the words of his greeting,
What shall I do unto thee?
O thou beloved of Jehovah,
Grant that thy servant may see!
Lifted the heart of the Prophet,
Claiming God's allness in prayer;
Hushed the awed multitude's murmur;
Still the soft breath of the air.
Through the dark thought of the beggar
Flooded a radiant light;
Truth had revealed man's dominion,
Faith was rewarded by sight.
Up from the Jericho highway,
Voices exultingly raise
Unto their God and His Prophet,
Paeans of honor and praise.

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