Lo! the pilgrim magi
leave their royal halls,
and with eager footsteps
speed to Bethlehem's walls;
as they onward journey,
faith, which firmly rests,
built on hope unswerving,
triumphs in their breasts.
O what joy and gladness
filled each heart, from far
when, to guide their footsteps,
shone that radiant star;
o'er that home so holy,
pouring down its ray,
where the cradled infant
with his mother lay.
Costly pomp and splendor
earthly kings array;
he, a mightier Monarch,
hath a nobler sway;
straw may be his pallet,
mean his garb may be,
yet with power transcendent
he all hearts can free.
At his crib they worship,
kneeling on the floor,
and their God there present,
in that Babe adore;
to our God and Savior
we, as Gentiles true,
give our heart o'erflowing,
give our tribute due.
Bringing of our substance,
gold unto our King;
pure and chastened bodies
to our Christ we bring;
unto him, like incense,
vow and prayer address;
so with meetest offerings,
him our God confess.
Glory to the Father,
Fount of Life alone;
who unto the Gentiles,
made his glory known.
Equal praise and glory,
blessèd Son, to thee,
and to thee, blest Spirit,
evermore shall be. |
