THE MIRACLE AND OTHER POEMS

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—­