<h4 id="id00020" style="margin-top: 2em">THE MIRACLE</h4>
<p id="id00021">Up from the templed city of the Jews,<br/>
The road ran straight and white<br/>
To Jericho, the City of the Palms,<br/>
The City of Delight.<br/></p>
<p id="id00022">Down that still road from far Judean hills<br/>
The shepherds drove their sheep<br/>
At silver dawn—at stirring of the birds—<br/>
When men were all asleep.<br/></p>
<p id="id00023">Full many went that weary way at noon,<br/>
Or rested by the trees,<br/>
Romans and slaves, Gentiles and bearded priests,<br/>
Sinners and Pharisees.<br/></p>
<p id="id00024">But when the pink clouds drifted far and high,<br/>
Like rose leaves blowing past,<br/>
When in the west where one star blessed the sky<br/>
The gates of day shut fast.<br/></p>
<p id="id00025">All travellers journeyed home, and the moonlight<br/>
Washed the road fresh and sweet,<br/>
Until it seemed a gleaming ivory path,<br/>
Waiting for royal feet.<br/></p>
<p id="id00026">* * * * *</p>
<p id="id00027">Now it was noon, and life at its full tide<br/>
Rolled ever to and fro,<br/>
A restless sea, between Jerusalem<br/>
And white-walled Jericho.<br/></p>
<p id="id00028">Blind Bartimeus, by the highway side,<br/>
Sat begging 'neath the trees,<br/>
And heard the world go by, Gentiles and Jews,<br/>
Sinners and Pharisees.<br/></p>
<p id="id00029">Blind Bartimeus of the mask-like face,<br/>
And patient, outstretched hand—<br/>
He upon whom his God had set a mark<br/>
No man might understand;<br/></p>
<p id="id00030">Blind Bartimeus of the lonely dark,<br/>
Who knew no thing called fear,<br/>
But dreamt his dreams, and heard the little sounds<br/>
No man but he could hear.<br/></p>
<p id="id00031">He heard the beating of the bird's soft wings<br/>
Uprising through the air;<br/>
He heard the camel's footfall in the dust,<br/>
And knew who travelled there.<br/></p>
<p id="id00032">He heard the lizard when it moved at noon<br/>
On the grey, sunlit wall;<br/>
He heard the far-off temple bells, what time<br/>
He felt the shadows fall.<br/></p>
<p id="id00033">Now, in the golden hour, he stooped to hear<br/>
A muffled sound and low,<br/>
The tramping of a myriad sandalled feet<br/>
That came from Jericho.<br/></p>
<p id="id00034">Then on the road a little lad he knew<br/>
Ran past, with eager cry,<br/>
"Ho, Bartimeus! Give thine heart good cheer,<br/>
For David's Son comes by!<br/></p>
<p id="id00035">"He comes! He comes! And, sad one, who can say<br/>
What He may do for thee?<br/>
He makes the lame to walk! He heals the sick!<br/>
He makes the blind to see!"<br/></p>
<p id="id00036">"He makes the blind to see! Oh, God of Hosts,<br/>
Beyond the sky called blue,<br/>
What if Messiah cometh to His own!<br/>
What if the words be true!"<br/></p>
<p id="id00037">On his swift way the little herald sped,<br/>
Like bird upon the wing,<br/>
And left the lean, brown beggar—world-forgot—<br/>
Waiting for Israel's King.<br/></p>
<p id="id00038">But when the dust came whirling to his feet—<br/>
When the mad throng drew near—<br/>
Blind Bartimeus rose, and from his lips<br/>
A cry rang loud and clear—<br/></p>
<p id="id00039">The cry of all the ages, of each soul<br/>
In sad captivity;<br/>
The endless cry from depths of bitter woe—<br/>
"Have mercy upon me!"<br/></p>
<p id="id00040">What though the wild oncoming multitude<br/>
Jested and bade him cease;<br/>
What though the Scribes and mighty Pharisees<br/>
Told him to keep his peace;<br/></p>
<p id="id00041">What though his heart grew faint, and all the strength<br/>
Slipped from each trembling limb—<br/>
The One of all the earth his soul desired<br/>
Stood still—and spoke to him.<br/></p>
<p id="id00042">Then silence fell, while the upheaving throng,<br/>
As sea-waves backward curled,<br/>
Left a great path, and down the path there shone<br/>
The Light of all the world.<br/></p>
<p id="id00043">The Light from whose mysterious golden depths<br/>
The Sun rose in his might—<br/>
The light from whose white, hidden fires were lit<br/>
The torches of the night;<br/></p>
<p id="id00044">The Light that shining on a thing of clay<br/>
Giveth it Life and Will:<br/>
The Light that with an unknown power can blast<br/>
And bid all life be still;<br/></p>
<p id="id00045">The Light that calls a ray of its own light<br/>
A man's undying soul—<br/>
The Light that lifts the broken lives of earth,<br/>
Touches and makes them whole.<br/></p>
<p id="id00046">Up towards the Radiance Bartimeus went,<br/>
Alone, and poor, and blind—<br/>
Feeling his way, if haply it led on<br/>
To One he fain would find.<br/></p>
<p id="id00047">Then spoke the Voice again. Oh, mystic words<br/>
Of a compelling grace:<br/>
The curtain rose from off his darkened sight—<br/>
He saw the King's own face.<br/></p>
<p id="id00048">So strangely beautiful—so strangely near—<br/>
He worshipped with his eyes,<br/>
Unheeding that for him at last there shone<br/>
The sunlit noonday skies.<br/></p>
<p id="id00049">What though the clamouring crowd echoed his name<br/>
Unto its utmost rim,<br/>
He only saw the Christ—and in the light<br/>
He rose and followed Him.<br/></p>
<p id="id00050">* * * * *</p>
<p id="id00051">Oh, Bartimeus of the mask-like face,<br/>
And patient, outstretched hand,<br/>
Was it for this God set on thee the mark<br/>
No man might understand?<br/></p>
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