I may not go to­night to Beth­le­hem,
Nor fol­low star-di­rect­ed ways, nor tread
The paths where­in the shep­herds walked, that led
To Christ, and peace, and God’s good will to men.

I may not hear the her­ald an­gel’s song
Peal through the ori­ent­al skies, nor see
The won­der of that hea­ven­ly com­pa­ny
Announce the King the world had wait­ed long.

The man­ger throne I may not kneel be­fore,
Or see how man to God is re­con­ciled,
Through pure St. Ma­ry’s pur­er, ho­li­er Child;
The hu­man Christ these eyes may not adore.

I may not car­ry frank­in­cense and myrrh
With ado­ra­tion to the Ho­ly One;
Nor gold have I to give the per­fect Son,
To be with those wise kings a wor­ship­per.

Not mine the joy that Hea­ven sent to them,
For ag­es since time swung and locked his gates,
But I may kneel with­out—the star still waits
To guide me on to ho­ly Beth­le­hem.