A pitter-pat, a lowly beat,
The gentle treading of my feet.
A feeling that only One can bring,
When comes the knocking of a King.
He seeks entrance to my soul,
A gentle warmth, a new-formed coal.
A meekly beam of brightest light,
A yeilder of both truth and might,
He seeks for me, not I for him,
But have I strength to let him in?
I need to listen, need to feel.
Before the king I will kneel.
This light, my king, I will uphold.
Through my deeds I must be bold.
This light I hold on earth will pour,
When Christ, my King, knocks on my door.