I knock at the holy time of Advent
And stand before the door!
Oh blessed be who knows the voice of the shepherd
And hastens and opens for me.
I shall hold an evening supper with him,
Dispense mercy to him, spread light,
The whole of Heaven shall be opened to him,
    I knock.

I knock, outside it is so cold
In this time of winter;
The dark fir forest is stiff with ice,
The world is snowbound,
Human hearts, too, are frozen, 
I stand before locked gates,
Where is a heart that would receive the Saviour?
    I knock.

I knock, if you would only once look
Into my faithful visage,
The crown of thorns, the bloody marks of the nails, --
Oh, you would not reject me!
I bore such fervent yearning for you,
I have so long been seeking you,
From the cross I come along the bloody path:
    I knock.

I knock, the evening is so lovely,
So quiet near and far,
The earth sleeps, from the clear heavens
The bright evening star gazes downward;
In such holy twilight hours
Many a heart already found me;
Oh, think how Nicodemus once did:
    I knock.

I knock and bring you nothing but salvation
And blessings for ever and ever,
The happiness of Zacchaeus, the good part of Mary
I would gladly give to you as well;
Just as once in dark night, I gave 
Sweet peace to my disciples,
Thus I would like to approach you with lovely greeting;
    I knock.

I knock, are you at home, oh soul,
When your beloved raps [upon your door]?
Does a fresh bouquet bloom for me in the pitcher,
Is the candlewick of your faith burning?
Do you know how to receive the friend?
Are you aproned and girt?
Are you prepared to embrace me as a bride would?
    I knock.

I knock, does your heart throb
At the sound of my voice?
Does the footfall of the most faithful mother-love startle you
Like the threat of distant thunder?
Oh, hearken to the pulsing of your heart,
God has spoken within your breast:
Awaken, the morning dawns, soon the cock shall crow,
    I knock.

I knock; do not say: it is the wind,
It rustles in withered foliage;
It is your Saviour, your Lord, your God, my child,
Oh, do not feign deafness;
Now I still come with a still, soft voice,
But soon perhaps with the roar of a storm,
Oh, believe [me], it is no idle childhood fancy:
    I knock.

I knock, now I am still your guest
And stand before your door,
Once, soul, when you no longer have an abode here,
Then you shall knock at my door;
Whosoever has lived according to my Word,
For him I shall open the gateway to peace,
But it shall not be opened for him who repudiated me;
    I knock.