The Lord’s Knocking

The night is far spent

And the day is at hand

There are signs in the heav­en

And signs on the land

In the wa­ver­ing earth

And the drought of the sea—

But He stands and He knocks

Sinner

near­er to thee.

His night winds but whis­per

Until the day break

To the Bride

for in slum­ber

Her heart is awake:

He must knock at the sleep

Where the re­vel­ers toss

With the dint of the nails

And the shock of the cross.

Look out at the case­ment

See how He ap­pears

Still weep­ing for thee

All Geth­se­ma­ne’s tears;

Ere they plait Him earth’s thorns

In its so­li­tude crowned

With the drops of the night

And the dew of the ground.

Will you wait? Will you slum­ber

Until He is gone?

Till the beam of the tim­ber

Cry out to the stone?

Till He shout at thy se­pul­cher

Tear it apart

And knock at the dust

Who would speak to thy heart?