Myrrh and frankincense and gold—
Thus the ancient story told—
When the seers found Him they sought,
To the wondrous babe they brought.
Let us—ours the selfsame quest—
Bear unto the Christ our best.

If to him, as to our King,
We the gift of gold would bring,
Be it royal offering!
Gold unstained by stealth or greed,
Gold outflung to all earth’s need,
That hath softened human woe—
Helped the helpless, raised the low.

Frankincense for him is meet,
Yet no Orient odors sweet
Are to him as fragrant gift
As white thoughts to God uplift,
And a life that soars sublime,
Sweet above ill scents of time.

Last, from out the Magians’ store,
Myrrh, as for one dead, they bore;
While, perchance, their lifted eyes
Viewed afar the Sacrifice.

Let us to the sepulcher
Bring a richer gift than myrrh:
Love that will not yield to dread
When all human hopes have fled;
Faith that falters not nor quails
When the waning earth-light fails,
Saying, “Shall I be afraid
Of the dark where Thou wast laid?”