LO! He stands—the blessed Saviour—
Knocking, knocking at thy door;
While He lingers, open quickly,
Lest indeed He knock no more.
Thinkest thou, apart from Jesus,
Thou art rich and needest naught?
“Wretched,” “blind” and “naked,” art thou,
When of Him all might be bought.
He it is who bids thee purchase
Gold of Him and raiment white,
Eyesalve too, that in thy blindness
He may make thy darkness light.
Should the Lord soon cease His knocking,
Should the Saviour go away,
Oh! how awful to discover,
‘Tis too late—He could not stay.
When those solemn words are spoken,
“Let the righteous righteous be,”
“Let the filthy still be filthy,”
Then which will be said of thee?
Now He knocketh at thy chamber,
Now His blood can cleanse thy sin;
If thou dost not open to Him,
Nevermore will He “come in.”