Whose star this is, I do not know.

It gleams on high o’er sand and snow:

My camel plods with heavy hoof,

Illumined by its breathless glow.

–

O’er mighty dune and windswept bluff,

I ride on, comfortless and rough,

My empty heart forsaking home;

The universe is not enough . . .

–

‘Cross hills and seasides I now roam,

Lone silhouette against the foam,

Seeking this star: three gleaming pearls

Fastened within the sky’s dark dome.

–

My crown weighs heavy on my curls.

Gnarled and weak, my old hand furls

Around my meager gift of gold—

The star ahead now leaps and twirls!

–

My camel halts. Now I behold

The One to Whom I bring my gold.

My fingers fail. My offering

Smashes on the hillside cold.

–

The stench of sheep, the wind’s cruel sting

Enfold the birthplace of this King.

Yet tears drip from my weary eyes.

I hear the voice of Morning sing.

–

Gently glory floods the skies

And paints the cave wherein He lies.

I cower to the frozen ground.

I do not have the strength to rise.

–

The Infant makes a laughing sound.

His fingers clasp mine all around.

The hand that holds eternity

Now pulls me from the frozen ground.

–

I look through all my tears and see

The gift this Child desires is me!

I kiss His small hand joyfully!

I kiss His small hand joyfully!