GOLD, frankincense, and myrrh they brought the new-born Christ,—
Those wise men from the East,—and in the ox’s stall
The far-brought precious gifts they heaped, with love unpriced;
And Christ the babe looked on, and wondered not at all.
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh I, too, would offer thee,
O King of faithful hearts, upon thy Christmas Day;
And poor and little worth although the offering be,
Because thou art so kind, I dare to think I may.
I bring the gold of faith, which, through the centuries long,
Still seeks the Holy Child, and worships at his feet,
And owns him for its Lord, with gladness deep and strong,
And joins the angel choir, singing in chorus sweet.
The frankincense I bear is worship which can rise,
Like perfume floating up higher and higher still,
Till on the wings of prayer it finds the far blue skies,
And falls, as falls the dew, to freshen heart and will.
And last I bring the myrrh, half bitter and half sweet,
Of my own selfish heart, through sacrifice made clean,
And break the vase and spill the oil upon thy feet,
O Lord of Christmas Day, as did the Magdalene.
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh,—’tis all I have to bring
To thee, O Holy Child, now throned in heaven’s mid!
Because thou art so kind, take the poor offering,
And let me go forth blessed, as once the Wise Men did.