First Line: Knocking, knocking, who is there,

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 ?

2 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.

3 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.