The star burns bright in morning gold,
A sign the ancient prophets told.
It leads the wise through desert air
To find the Child in humble care.

The gifts they bear in silence gleam—
Gold, myrrh, and frankincense that stream
With meaning deep and wonder true,
A homage born of light made new.

The stable glows with holy fire,
A warmth no winter can retire.
The world, once lost in shadow’s keep,
Awakens from its restless sleep.

So let our hearts like lanterns shine,
For love has crossed the mortal line.
On Epiphany’s bright, sacred morn,
The Light of all the world is born.