We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain,
Moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
O 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 for ever,
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 heav'n replies.
