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?