Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.
The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.
Three
caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three
caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their
robes were of crimson silk with rows
Of
bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their
turbans like blossoming almond-trees.
And
so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through
the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,
And
sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And
sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With
the people they met at some wayside well.
"Of
the child that is born," said Baltasar,
"Good
people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For
we in the East have seen his star,
And
have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To
find and worship the King of the Jews."
And
the people answered, "You ask in vain;
We
know of no King but Herod the Great!"
They
thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As
they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like
riders in haste, who cannot wait.
And
when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod
the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent
for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And
said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,
And
bring me tidings of this new king."
So
they rode away; and the star stood still,
The
only one in the grey of morn;
Yes,
it stopped --it stood still of its own free will,
Right
over Bethlehem on the hill,
The
city of David, where Christ was born.
And
the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through
the silent street, till their horses turned
And
neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But
the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And
only a light in the stable burned.
And
cradled there in the scented hay,
In
the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The
little child in the manger lay,
The
child, that would be king one day
Of
a kingdom not human, but divine.
His
mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat
watching beside his place of rest,
Watching
the even flow of his breath,
For
the joy of life and the terror of death
Were
mingled together in her breast.
They
laid their offerings at his feet:
The
gold was their tribute to a King,
The
frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was
for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The
myrrh for the body's burying.
And
the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And
sat as still as a statue of stone,
Her
heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering
what the Angel had said
Of
an endless reign and of David's throne.
Then
the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With
a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But
they went not back to Herod the Great,
For
they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And
returned to their homes by another way.
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
