They come from far a king to seek,
They find a babe and maid­en meek,
In low-roofed ox­en stall:
Yet right­ly rich­est gifts they bring,
For truly this Babe is King of all kings,
The God and Lord of all.

Bright gold one of­fers now to Him,
Whose glo­ry makes the fine gold dim,
His king­ly state to show;
And myrrh the bit­ter hour of strife,
When He, who giv­eth all things life,
In death’s dust lie­th low.

One of­fers frank­in­cense sweet and rare,
The sym­bol meet of praise and pray­er,
Before the cra­dle-throne;
For sure­ly God is in this place,
And in the bless­èd In­fant’s face
The might of God is shown.

Lord, grant us, as the kings of old,
By faith the glo­ry to be­hold
Which Thy poor form doth veil;
Within the sta­ble’s nar­row bound
To know a spot of ho­ly ground
And kneel our God to hail:

That, in dark shades of sin­ful night,
Since Thou dost call us to Thy light,
We may no long­er roam;
But, lift­ing heart and eyes to Heav’n,
We fol­low the sign Thy love hath giv’n
Until the star leads us home!