THREE without slumber ride from afar,
Fain of the roads where palaces are;
All by a shed as they ride in a row,
"Here!" is the cry of their vanishing Star.
First doth a greybeard, glittering fine,
Look on Messiah in slant moonshine:
"_This have I bought for Thee!_" Vainly: for lo,
Shut like a fern is the young hand divine.
Next doth a magian, mantled and tall,
Bow to the Ruler that reigns from a stall:
"_This have I sought for Thee!_" Though it be rare,
Loath little fingers are letting it fall.
Last doth a stripling, bare in his pride,
Kneel by the Lover as if to abide:
"_This have I wrought for Thee!_" Answer him there
Laugh of a Child, and His arms opened wide.