Behold, I Stand at the Door.

BEHOLD a Stranger at the door! He gently knocks—has knock'd before; Has waited long—is waiting still; You treat no other friend so ill.

Oh! lovely attitude—he stands With melting heart and loaded hands; Oh! matchless kindness—and he shows This matchless kindness to his foes!

But will he prove a friend indeed? He will—the very Friend you need; The Friend of sinners—yes, 'tis he, With garments dyed on Calvary.

Rise, touched with gratitude divine, Turn out his enemy and thine, That soul-destroying monster, sin— And let the heav'nly stranger in.

Admit him, ere his anger burn— His feet, departed, ne'er return; Admit him—or the hour's at hand, You'll at his door rejected stand.