BLIND, poor, and helpless, BARTIMEUS sate,
Listening the foot of the wayfaring man,
Still hoping that the next, and still the next,
Would put an alms into his trembling hand.
He thinks he hears the coming breeze faint rustle
Among the sycamores; it is the tread
Of thousand steps; it is the hum of tongues
Innumerable: But when the sightless man
Heard that the Nazarene was passing by,
He cried, and said," JESUS, thou son of David,
Have mercy upon me!" and, when rebuked,
He cried the more," Have mercy upon me."-
Thy faith hath made thee whole; so JESUS spake,-
And straight the blind beheld the face of God.
Suffer that little children come to me,
Forbid them not. Emboldened by his words,
The mothers onward press; but, finding vain
The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their babes
To strangers' hands: The innocents, alarmed
Amid the throng of faces all unknown,
Shrink, trembling, till their wandering eyes discern
The countenance of JESUS, beaming love
And pity; eager then they stretch their arms,
And, cowring, lay their heads upon his breast.
THE roaring tumult of the billowed sea
Awakes him not: high on the crested surge,
Now heaved, his locks flow streaming in the blast;
And, now descending, 'tween the sheltering waves,
The falling tresses veil the face divine:
Meek though that veil a momentary gleam,
Benignant, shines; he dreams that he beholds
The opening eyes,---that long hopeless had rolled
In darkness,---look around bedimmed with tears
Of joy; but, suddenly, the voice of fear
Dispelled the happy vision: Awful he rose,
Rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea,
Peace, be thou still! and straight there was a calm.
With terror-mingled gladness in their looks,
The mariners exclaim,---What man is this,
That even the wind and sea obey his voice!
LOUD blew the storm of night; the thwarting surge
Dashed, boiling on the labouring bark: Dismay,
From face to face reflected, spread around :-
When, lo! upon a towering wave is seen
The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright,
Move onward to the ship: The helmsman starts,
And quits his hold; the voyagers, appalled,
Shrink from the fancied Spirit of the Flood:
But when the voice of JESUS, with the storm
Soft mingled, It is I, be not afraid,
Fear fled, and joy lightened from eye to eye.
Up he ascends, and, from the rolling side,
Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky
With transient look severe: The tempest, awed, Sinks to a sudden calm; the clouds disperse; The moon-beam trembles on the face divine, Reflected mildly in the unruffled deep.
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