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.