The Sending of the Magi

In a far Eastern country

It happened long of yore,

Where a lone and level sunrise

Flushes the desert floor,

That three kings sat together

And a spearman kept the door.

Caspar, whose wealth was counted

By city and caravan;

With Melchior, the seer

Who read the starry plan;

And Balthasar, the blameless,

Who loved his fellow man.

There while they talked, a sudden

Strange rushing sound arose,

And as with startled faces

They thought upon their foes,

Three figures stood before them

In imperial repose.

One in flame-gold and one in blue

And one in scarlet clear,

With the almighty portent

Of sunrise they drew near!

And the kings made obeisance

With hand on breast, in fear.

“Arise,” said they, “we bring you

Good tidings of great peace!

To-day a power is wakened

Whose working must increase,

Till fear and greed and malice

And violence shall cease.”

The messengers were Michael,

By whom all things are wrought

To shape and hue; and Gabriel

Who is the lord of thought;

And Rafael without whose love

All toil must come to nought.

Then Rafael said to Balthasar,

“In a country west from here

A lord is born in lowliness,

In love without a peer.

Take grievances and gifts to him

And prove his kingship clear!

“By this sign ye shall know him;

Within his mother's arm

Among the sweet-breathed cattle

He slumbers without harm,

While wicked hearts are troubled

And tyrants take alarm.”

And Gabriel said to Melchior,

“My comrade, I will send

My star to go before you,

That ye may comprehend

Where leads your mystic learning

In a humaner trend.”

And Michael said to Gaspar,

“Thou royal builder, go

With tribute of thy riches!

Though time shall overthrow

Thy kingdom, no undoing

His gentle might shall know.”

Then while the kings’ hearts greatened

And all the chamber shone,

As when the hills at sundown

Take a new glory on

And the air thrills with purple,

Their visitors were gone.

Then straightway up rose Gaspar,

Melchior and Balthasar,

And passed out through the murmur

Of palace and bazar,

To make without misgiving

The journey of the Star.