We three kings of Orient are:
Bearing gifts we traverse afar—
Field and fountain, moor and mountain—
Following yonder star.
Oh, star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Born a King on Bethlehem's plain:
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.
Frankincense to offer have I,
Incense owns a Deity nigh;
Prayer and praising, all men raising,
Worship Him, God on high.
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom—
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.
Glorious now behold Him arise:
King and God and sacrifice;
Alleluia, alleluia!
Earth to heaven replies.