Bing Crosby

We three kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder Star.

O, star of wonder, star of might,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to the perfect light.

Born a babe on Bethlehem's plain;
Gold we bring to crown Him again;
King forever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.

Chorus

Frankincense to offer have I;
Incense owns a Deity nigh;
Prayer and praising, all men raising,
Worship Him, God on High.

Chorus

Myrrth is mine; its bitter ferfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying
Sealed

Chorus

Glorious Now behold Him arise
King and God, and sacrifice
Heaven sings Alleuia
Alleuia the Earth replies
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