How vain the cru­el Her­od’s fear,
When told that Christ the King is near!
He takes not earth­ly realms away,
Who gives the realms that ne’er de­cay.

The East­ern sag­es saw from far
And fol­lowed on His guid­ing star;
By light their way to Light they trod,
And by their gifts con­fessed their God.

Within the Jor­dan’s sac­red flood
The heav’n­ly Lamb in meek­ness stood,
That He to whom no sin was known,
Might cleanse His peo­ple from their own.

And oh, what mi­ra­cle di­vine,
When wa­ter red­dened in­to wine!
He spake the word, and forth it flowed
In streams that na­ture ne’er be­stowed.

All glo­ry, Je­su, be to Thee
For this Thy glad Epi­pha­ny:
Whom with the Fa­ther we ad­ore
And Ho­ly Ghost for­ev­er­more.