He Standeth at the Door

"My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night." Cant. v. 9.

The stars are shining from their depths of blue,
And one is standing at the door and knocks;
He  knocks to enter in. His raven locks
Are heavy with the midnight's glittering dew.
He  is our FRIEND; and great his griefs have been,
The thorns, the cross, the garden's deep distress,
Which he hath suff'ered for our happiness;
And shall we not arise, and let him in?
All hail, thou chosen one, thou source of bliss!
Come with thy bleeding feet, thy wounded side;
Alas, for us Thou hast endured all this;
Enter our doors, and at our hearth abide!
Chill are the midnight dews, the midnight air;
Come to our hearts and homes, and make thy dwelling there.

— American Cottage Life (1850).