Now who are these that thus re­pair
To Sa­lem’s streets, with tra­vel worn,
And ask the won­der­ing people, where
The King of Zi­on should be born?

Wise men are they, from east­ern parts,
Who fail not, in their zeal, to bring
Rich trea­sures, and obe­di­ent hearts,
Oblations to the new-born King.

For they, in their far-dist­ant home,
A Gen­tile re­gion, dark and dim,
Have seen His star; and they are come
To Ju­dah’s land, to wor­ship Him.

But not in pa­laces nor halls,
On pil­lows rich and soft re­clined,
’Midst ce­dar roofs, and mar­ble walls,
Shall they the King of Zi­on find.

No min­is­ters of high es­tate,
Nor chiefs, nor learn­èd ones of earth,
Are ga­thered in His courts, to wait
The tid­ings of Im­ma­nu­el’s birth.

Nor yet on Zi­on’s glit­ter­ing dome
The star of glo­ry shed its ray;
But stood o’er Beth­l’hem’s hum­ble home,
And showed them where the young Child lay.

’Twas there the Son of Da­vid’s race,
Whom God of old was pleased to grant,
They saw; and in that low­ly place,
Th’abode of in­di­gence and want,

Devoutly kneel­ing on their knees,
They spread their gifts, their ho­ly things,
And hearts more pre­cious far than these,
An of­fer­ing to the King of kings.

Lord! be it ours Thy guid­ing light
In eve­ry path of life to see;
And still let wis­dom, wealth, and might,
Devote their rich­est stores to Thee!