Knocking, Knocking, Who Is There ?
Waiting, Waiting, Oh, 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 ?

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 Twine.

Knocking, Knocking What, Still There ?
Waiting, Waiting, Grand And Fair !
Yes, The Pierced Hand Still Knocketh,
And Beneath The Crowned Hair
Beam The Patient Eyes, So Tender,
Of Thy Saviour Waiting There.