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,