The Miracle

Up from the templed city of the Jews,      The road ran straight and white     To Jericho, the City of the Palms,      The City of Delight.     Down that still road from far Judean hills      The shepherds drove their sheep     At silver dawn - at stirring of the birds -      When men were all asleep.     Full many went that weary way at noon,      Or rested by the trees,     Romans and slaves, Gentiles and bearded priests,      Sinners and Pharisees.     But when the pink clouds drifted far and high,      Like rose leaves blowing past,     When in the west where one star blessed the sky      The gates of day shut fast.     All travellers journeyed home, and the moonlight      Washed the road fresh and sweet,     Until it seemed a gleaming ivory path,      Waiting for royal feet.     *    *    *    *    *     Now it was noon, and life at its full tide      Rolled ever to and fro,     A restless sea, between Jerusalem      And white-walled Jericho.     Blind Bartimeus, by the highway side,      Sat begging 'neath the trees,     And heard the world go by, Gentiles and Jews,      Sinners and Pharisees.     Blind Bartimeus of the mask-like face,      And patient, outstretched hand -     He upon whom his God had set a mark      No man might understand;     Blind Bartimeus of the lonely dark,      Who knew no thing called fear,     But dreamt his dreams, and heard the little sounds      No man but he could hear.     He heard the beating of the bird's soft wings      Uprising through the air;     He heard the camel's footfall in the dust,      And knew who travelled there.     He heard the lizard when it moved at noon      On the grey, sunlit wall;     He heard the far-off temple bells, what time      He felt the shadows fall.     Now, in the golden hour, he stooped to hear      A muffled sound and low,     The tramping of a myriad sandalled feet      That came from Jericho.     Then on the road a little lad he knew      Ran past, with eager cry,     "Ho, Bartimeus! Give thine heart good cheer,      For David's Son comes by!     "He comes! He comes! And, sad one, who can say      What He may do for thee?     He makes the lame to walk! He heals the sick!      He makes the blind to see!"     "He makes the blind to see! Oh, God of Hosts,      Beyond the sky called blue,     What if Messiah cometh to His own!      What if the words be true!"     On his swift way the little herald sped,      Like bird upon the wing,     And left the lean, brown beggar - world-forgot -      Waiting for Israel's King.     But when the dust came whirling to his feet -      When the mad throng drew near -     Blind Bartimeus rose, and from his lips      A cry rang loud and clear -     The cry of all the ages, of each soul      In sad captivity;     The endless cry from depths of bitter woe -      "Have mercy upon me!"     What though the wild oncoming multitude      Jested and bade him cease;     What though the Scribes and mighty Pharisees      Told him to keep his peace;     What though his heart grew faint, and all the strength      Slipped from each trembling limb -     The One of all the earth his soul desired      Stood still - and spoke to him.     Then silence fell, while the upheaving throng,      As sea-waves backward curled,     Left a great path, and down the path there shone      The Light of all the world.     The Light from whose mysterious golden depths      The Sun rose in his might -     The light from whose white, hidden fires were lit      The torches of the night;     The Light that shining on a thing of clay      Giveth it Life and Will:     The Light that with an unknown power can blast      And bid all life be still;     The Light that calls a ray of its own light      A man's undying soul -     The Light that lifts the broken lives of earth,      Touches and makes them whole.     Up towards the Radiance Bartimeus went,      Alone, and poor, and blind -     Feeling his way, if haply it led on      To One he fain would find.     Then spoke the Voice again. Oh, mystic words      Of a compelling grace:     The curtain rose from off his darkened sight -      He saw the King's own face.     So strangely beautiful - so strangely near -      He worshipped with his eyes,     Unheeding that for him at last there shone      The sunlit noonday skies.     What though the clamouring crowd echoed his name      Unto its utmost rim,     He only saw the Christ - and in the light      He rose and followed Him.     *    *    *    *    *     Oh, Bartimeus of the mask-like face,      And patient, outstretched hand,     Was it for this God set on thee the mark      No man might understand?