The ox and ass do recognize
This Child, their Master from the skies.
Kings from the East are journeying,
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh they bring.
Who, entering in turn the place,
The new King greet with lowly grace.
Seed of the woman lies he there,
And no man’s son, this Child so fair.
Unwounded by the serpent’s sting,
Of our own blood comes in the King.