We three kings of Orient are Bearing gifts we traverse afar Field and fountain, moor and mountain Following yonder star Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume Breaths a life of gathering gloom Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying Sealed in a stone-cold tomb O star of wonder, star of night Star of royal beauty bright Westward leading, still proceeding Guide us to thy light We three kings of Orient are Bearing gifts we traverse afar Field and fountain, moor and mountain Following yonder Following yonder Following yonder star