I stand at the door and knock. Revelation 3:20
Words: Adapted from Harriet B. Stowe’s poem Knocking, in her Light After Darkness: Religious Poems (London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston 1867), pages 10–13. The version below appeared in The Prize, edited by George Root (Chicago, Illinois: Root & Cady, 1870), pages 52–53.
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 piercèd hand still knocketh,
And beneath the crownèd hair
Beam the patient eyes, so tender,
Of thy Savior waiting there.