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 beggarSpeeds 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 beggarFlooded a radiant light;Truth had revealed man's dominion,Faith was rewarded by sight.Up from the Jericho highway,Voices exultingly raiseUnto their God and His Prophet,Paeans of honor and praise.

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August 24, 1935
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