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 light, 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, voices raising, worshiping 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, sounds through the earth and skies.
Text and Tune: John H. Hopkins, Jr.