BARTIMEUS by Robert J. Burdette

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · May 13, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 18.

BARTIMEUS.

By Robert J. Burdette

I WOULD receive my sight; my clouded eyes Miss the glad radiance of the morning sun, The changing tints that glorify the skies With roseate splendors when the day is done; The shadows soft and gray, the pearly light Of summer twilight deep'ning into night.

I cannot see to keep the narrow way, And so I blindly wander here and there, Groping amidst the tombs, or, helpless, stray Through pathless, tangled deserts, bleak and bare. Weeping I seek the way I cannot find— Open my eyes, dear Lord, for I am blind.

And oft I laugh with some light, thoughtless jest, Nor see how anguish lines some face more dear. And write my mirth, a mocking palimpsest, On blotted scrolls of human pain and fear, And never see the heartache interlined— Pity, O Son of David! I am blind.

I do not see the pain my light words give; The quivering, shrinking heart I cannot see; So, light of thought, 'midst hidden griefs I live, And mock the cypressed tombs with slightest glee; Open my eyes, light, blessed ways to find— Jesus, have mercy on me, I am blind.

My useless eyes are reservoirs of tears, Doomed for their blind mistakes to overflow; To weep for thoughtless ways of wandering years, Because I could not see—I did not know. These sightless eyes—than angriest glance less kind— Light of the World, have pity! I am blind.

—Robert J. Burdette, in Christian Advocate.