Blind Bartimeus

    As Jesus went into Jericho town,
    Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
        About blind Bartimeus.
    He said, "My eyes are more than dim,
    They are no use for seeing him:
        No matter--he can see us!"

    "Cry out, cry out, blind brother--cry;
    Let not salvation dear go by.--
        Have mercy, Son of David."
    Though they were blind, they both could hear--
    They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
        And so the blind were saved.

    O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
    Nothing comes through into my mind;
        'Tis well I am not dumb:
    Although I see thee not, nor hear,
    I cry because thou may'st be near:
        O son of Mary, come!

    I hear it through the all things blind:
    Is it thy voice, so gentle and kind--
        "Poor eyes, no more be dim"?
    A hand is laid upon mine eyes;
    I hear, and hearken, see, and rise;--
        'Tis He! I follow him!

George MacDonald

George MacDonald (1824–1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister best known for his fairy tales and fantasy novels. He was a pioneer in the fantasy genre, influencing notable writers such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. His major works include "Phantastes" and "Lilith," as well as numerous poems and other literary works. MacDonald's writings are characterized by their imaginative qualities and deep spiritual insight.

George MacDonald

Dr. Doddridge's Dog

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Holy Snowdrops.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

The Holy Midnight

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Epiphany. (Luther's Song-Book.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Blind Bartimeus

Blind Bartimeus at the gates
Of Jericho in darkness waits;
He hears the crowd;--he hears a breath
Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth!"
And calls, in tones of agony,
[Greek here]

The thronging multitudes increase;
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!
But still, above the noisy crowd,
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud;
Until they say, "He calleth thee!"
[Greek here]

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands
The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands?"
And he replies, "O give me light!
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight.
And Jesus answers, '

 '

[Greek here]!



Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,

In darkness and in misery,

Recall those mighty Voices Three,

[Greek here]!

[Greek here]!

[Greek here]!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Bartimæus

"What means this throng?" a blind man said,
Whilst begging by the highway side;
Begging and blind, and lacking bread,
His ears discern the living tide.
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by,"
Was answered. Had he heard aright?
Oh, was the heavenly healer nigh,
He who could give the blind their sight?
"Jesus, have mercy!" lo, he cried,
"Oh, son of David, pity me!"
And when the jeering crowd deride,
His accents form a clearer plea.
Jesus stood still. A kindly voice
Bade him good cheer "He calleth thee."
Thus must his lonely heart rejoice,
"He thinks of me; yes, even me!"
Bartimæus found the Living Light
Who asked and granted his request.
His blinded eyes received their sight;
With joy he followed with the rest.
How oft when Jesus passes by,
The ...

Nancy Campbell Glass

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.

*    *    *    ...

Virna Sheard

The Blind Man Of Jericho.

He sat by the dusty way-side,
    With weary, hopeless mien,
On his furrowed brow the traces
    Of care and want were seen;
With outstretched hand and with bowed-down head
He asked the passers-by for bread.

The palm-tree's feathery foliage
    Around him thickly grew,
And the smiling sky above him
    Wore Syria's sun-bright hue;
But dark alike to that helpless one
Was murky midnight or noon-tide sun.

But voices breaking the silence
    Are heard, fast drawing nigh,
And falls on his ear the clamor
    Of vast crowds moving by:
"What is it?" he asks, with panting breath;
They answer: "Jesus of Nazareth."

What a spell lay in that title,
    Linked with such mem'ries high
Of miracles of mercy,
    Wrought 'neath Judaea'...

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

The Healer

They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind,
    The devil-torn, the sick, the sore;
Thy heart their well of life they find,
    Thine ear their open door.

Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine--
    What smiles and tears of rescued throngs!
Their lees of life were turned to wine,
    Their prayers to shouts and songs!

The story dear our wise men fable call,
    Give paltry facts the mighty range;
To me it seems just what should fall,
    And nothing very strange.

But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore,
    I scarce would care for cure to ask;
Another prayer should haunt thy door--
    Set thee a harder task.

If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine,
    Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest!
Had ever heart more...

George MacDonald

Sonnet. About Jesus. XI.

The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear
Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things
Had credence; and no highest art that flings
A spirit radiance from it, like the spear
Of the ice-pointed mountain, lifted clear
In the nigh sunrise, had made skyey springs
Of light in the clouds of dull imaginings:
Vain were the painter or the sculptor here.
Give man the listening heart, the seeing eye;
Give life; let sea-derived fountain well,
Within his spirit, infant waves, to tell
Of the far ocean-mysteries that lie
Silent upon the horizon,--evermore
Falling in voices on the human shore.

George MacDonald