"'Tis well," the black King Casper cried,
"For mighty men are ye;
But no such humble king were meet
For my simplicity.
"A star is small and very far,
A babe's a simple thing;
The very Son of God himself
Shall be my Lord and King!"
Then smiled the King Balthazar;
"A good youth!" Melchior cried;
And young and old, without a word,
Along the hills they ride,
Till, lo! among the western skies
There grows a shining thing—
"The star! Behold the star," they shout;
"Behold Balthazar's King!"
And, lo! within the western skies
The star begins to flit;
The three kings spur their horses on,
And follow after it.
And when they reach the king's palace,
They cry, "Behold the place!"
But, like a shining bird, the star
Flits on in heaven apace.
Oh they rode on, and on they rode,
Till they reached a lonely wold,
Where shepherds keep their flocks by night,
And the night was chill and cold.
Oh they rode on, and on they rode,
Till they reach a little town,
And there the star in heaven stands still
Above a stable brown.
The town is hardly a village,
The stable's old and poor,
But there the star in heaven stands still
Above the stable door.
And through the open door, the straw
And the tired beasts they see;
And the Babe, laid in a manger,
That sleepeth peacefully.