Kneeling at the Threshold

I’m kneel­ing at the thresh­old

So wea­ry

faint

and sore

Waiting for the dawn­ing

The op­en­ing of the door;

I’m wait­ing till the Mas­ter

Shall bid me rise and come

To His all glo­ri­ous pre­sence

The glad­ness of His home.

Kneeling at the thresh­old

Weary

faint and sore;

Kneeling at the thresh­old

My hand is at the door.

A wea­ry path I’ve tra­veled

’Mid dark­ness

storm and strife;

Bearing ma­ny a bur­den

And strug­gling for my life;

But now the morn is break­ing

My toil will soon be o’er;

I’m kneel­ing at the thresh­old

My hand is on the door.

Methinks I hear the voic­es

Of loved ones as they stand

Singing in the sun­shine

In that fair sin­less land:

Oh

would that I were with them

Amid their shin­ing throng

And ming­ling in their wor­ship

And join­ing in their song!

The friends that start­ed with me

Have en­tered long ago;

One by one they left me

Still strug­gling with the foe;

Their pil­grim­age was short­er

Their tri­umph sur­er won

How lov­ing­ly they’ll hail me

When all my toil is done.

With them the bless­èd an­gels

That know no grief or sin

Standing by the por­tals

Prepared to let me in;

O Lord

I wait Thy plea­sure—

Thy time and way are best;

But I’m all worn and wea­ry;

O Fa­ther

bid me rest!