Knocking, knocking, who is there?
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1
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Knocking, knocking, who is there? Waiting, waiting, O how fair! ’Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly, Never such was seen before; Ah! my soul, for such a wonder Wilt thou not undo the door? Wilt thou not undo the door? |
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2
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Knocking, knocking, still He’s there, Waiting, waiting, wondrous fair; But the door is hard to open, For the weeds and ivy vine With their dark and clinging tendrils Ever round the hinges twice, Ever round the hinges twice. |
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3
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Knocking, knocking what! still there? Waiting, waiting, grand and fair; Yea, the wounded hand still knocketh, And beneath the thorn-wreath’d hair Beam the patient eyes, so tender, Of thy Savior waiting there; Wilt thou keep him waiting there? |