Knocking, knocking, who is there?

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?

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.

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?