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