Told in the Market-Place

That day the doves with bur­nished sil­ver breasts

Uneasy were; we

halt and blind and lame

Within the tem­ple wait­ed

ug­ly guests

Hoping

in spite of filth

dis­ease and shame;

Outside the mul­ti­tude waved branch­es green

And called

Ho­san­na to the Na­za­rene.

I shrank close to the roof-prop

for my eyes

Were dead to see­ing: but heard I the coins

The piles of clink­ing sil­ver shek­els rise

Poured from sheiks’ bags

And belts ’round mer­chant loins;

I heard the pur­ple priced; and in be­tween

Far off

Ho­san­na to the Na­za­rene.

I could not see Him en­ter

but I heard

The mul­ti­tude and smelled the dus­ty throng:

Old An­ab brushed me with his rag­ged beard

Muttering

Kneel

thou! He will speak ere long.

Yea—though five time more lep­rous I had been

I would come here to im­plore the Na­za­rene.

But then the wo­man Ter­ah

ill of pox

Began to whim­per

See

He bring­eth woe!

He over­turns the booths

the trea­sure box

Eyes blaz­ing on the sell­ers. Let us go!

He’ll scourge us

smite us! Tush! It is well seen

We shall be curs­èd of the Na­za­rene.

A form swept past us

we in ter­ror caught

A man’s clear voice of an­ger: then the sound

Of flee­ing feet of traf­fick­ers

on­slaught

On booths

and ta­bles crash­ing to the ground.

I heard the mo­ney scat­ter and ca­reen

Under the spurn­ing of the Na­za­rene.

Rachel

a maid­en

clutched my sleeve

and shrank

With me be­hind the cur­tain

and the crowd

Surged wild­ly past. For us

our dear hopes sank

Under that stern voice cut­ting like a goad

Judging

ar­raign­ing

charg­ing; ’mid the spleen

Of mon­ey-chang­ers

stood the Na­za­rene!

This tem­ple is My house

the House of Pray­er!

His voice was like the wind that whips the leaves.

But with your buy­ings and your sell­ings there

Ye—ye have made My house a den of thieves.

Then lit­tle Ra­chel sobbed

Aw­ful is His mien;

His eyes are flames; I fear the Na­za­rene.

But when the tem­ple si­lenced—while a dove

Fluttered and soared and beat against the roof

We fright­ened beg­gars heard a voice of love

Calling us gent­ly; then His ten­der proof

He gave. He healed us! I

who e’er had been

Blind from my birth—I saw the Na­za­rene!