Alva Review-Courier -

We three kings of Orient are

Bearing gifts we traverse afar.

Field and fountain, moor and mountain,

Following yonder star.

Born a king on Bethlehem's plain,

Gold I bring to crown Him again,

King forever, ceasing never

Over us all to reign.

Frankincense to offer have I.

Incense owns a Deity nigh.

Prayer and praising all men raising,

Worship Him, God on high.

Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume

Breaths a life of gathering gloom.

Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding dying,

Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.

(“We Three Kings,” by John Henry Hopkins Jr.)

This year, on Palm Sunday morning, I preached a sermon tha...