Bartimaeus 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!
Comes a priest back from the Temple, Pondering the written Law, Blind to all the lovely blossoms In the awe,
In the testamented terror Of the lengthened scroll he reads; While the beggar at the highroad Vainly pleads!
Comes a wanton in her madness, Drifting down the human stream; In her eyes the haunting horror Of a dream!
Comes a harpist gaily singing, Brave above the smitten cords, Glancing at the royal huleh And the gourds.
Come two lovers from betrothal — She is on a milk-white ass, And he strides in strength beside her; As they pass,
Bartimaeus pleads for pity: “Give the blind man of our all,” Breathes the maiden, and the young man — Straight and tall —
Gives three shekels to the beggar, Turns and looks into her eyes; Then they journey to their waiting Paradise!
Strange!— That day three people only Heard blind Bartimaeus’ cry — These, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth Passing by!
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