They leave the land of gems and gold,
The shining portals of the east
the woman’s Seed foretold,
They leave the revel and the feast.
He, he is King, and He alone,
Who lifts that infant hand to bless;
Who makes His mother’s knee His throne,
Yet rules the starry wilderness!
To earth their scepters they have cast,
And crowns by kings ancestral worn;
They track the lonely Syrian waste;
They kneel before the Babe new-born.
O happy eyes, that saw Him first!
O happy lips that kissed His feet!
Earth slakes at last her ancient thirst:
With Eden’s joy her pulses beat.