CHILION. 
           A young man clad in white
Is coming through the gateway, and a crowd
Of people follow.

BARTIMEUS. 
                 Can it be the Prophet! 
O neighbors, tell me who it is that passes?

ONE OF THE CROWD. 
Jesus of Nazareth.

BARTIMEUS, crying. 
                    O Son of David! 
Have mercy on me!

MANY OP THE CROWD. 
            Peace.  Blind Bartimeus! 
Do not disturb the Master.

BARTIMEUS, crying more vehemently. 
                        Son of David,
Have mercy on me!

ONE OF THE CROWD. 
              See, the Master stops. 
Be of good comfort; rise, He calleth thee!

BARTIMEUS, casting away his cloak. 
Chilion! good neighbors! lead me on.

CHRISTUS. 
                       What wilt thou
That I should do to thee?

BARTIMEUS. 
              Good Lord! my sight—­
That I receive my sight!

CHRISTUS. 
                   Receive thy sight! 
Thy faith hath made thee whole!

THE CROWD. 
                      He sees again!

CHRISTUS passes on, The crowd gathers round BARTIMEUS.

BARTIMEUS. 
I see again; but sight bewilders me! 
Like a remembered dream, familiar things
Come back to me.  I see the tender sky
Above me, see the trees, the city walls,
And the old gateway, through whose echoing arch
I groped so many years; and you, my neighbors;
But know you by your friendly voices only. 
How beautiful the world is! and how wide! 
Oh, I am miles away, if I but look! 
Where art thou, Chilion?

CHILION. 
                     Father, I am here.

BARTIMEUS. 
Oh let me gaze upon thy face, dear child! 
For I have only seen thee with my hands! 
How beautiful thou art!  I should have known thee;
Thou hast her eyes whom we shall see hereafter! 
O God of Abraham!  Elion!  Adonai! 
Who art thyself a Father, pardon me
If for a moment I have thee postponed
To the affections and the thoughts of earth,
Thee, and the adoration that I owe thee,
When by thy power alone these darkened eyes
Have been unsealed again to see thy light!

VI

JACOB’S WELL

A SAMARITAN WOMAN. 
The sun is hot; and the dry east-wind blowing
Fills all the air with dust.  The birds are silent;
Even the little fieldfares in the corn
No longer twitter; only the grasshoppers
Sing their incessant song of sun and summer. 
I wonder who those strangers were I met
Going into the city?  Galileans
They seemed to me in speaking, when they asked
The short way to the market-place.  Perhaps
They are fishermen from the lake; or travellers,
Looking to find the inn.  And here is some one
Sitting beside the well; another stranger;