THE PROCESSION OF THE KINGS

The little town is muffled all in snow;

Yet there Weihnachtenlove is burning clear.

And on each door three lettersin a row

Proclaim the Three Kings’ Day is drawing near.

Oh, then will Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar

Ride through the country on their horses white!

And all the people, live they far or near,

Will early rise and follow with delight.

And never will the great procession stop

Till they Christkindlein and his mother greet:

Then on their knees the turbaned kings will drop,

And fill her lap with gifts, and kiss his feet;

For they will find her, sitting still and meek

Upon a bench beside some stable-shed,

Her soft hair brushing dear Christkindlein's cheek,

And sunshine brightness all around each head!

Then, while the old folk smile through happy tears,

Blame not the children if a shout they raise

When little Esel,with his pointed ears,

Leans o'er the fence with puzzled, wistful gaze.

There, too, the gentle, great black ox will stand:

Folk say he knelt at night in strawy stall;

Perchance he knows these kings from Eastern land,

For now he lifts his head with lowing call!