Good King Wenceslas

Good King Wen­ces­las looked out

On the Feast of Ste­phen

When the snow lay round about

Deep and crisp and ev­en.

Brightly shone the moon that night

Though the frost was cru­el

When a poor man came in sight

Gathering win­ter fu­el.

Hither

page

and stand by me

If you know it

tell­ing

Yonder pea­sant

who is he?

Where and what his dwell­ing?

Sire

he lives a good league hence

Underneath the mount­ain

Right against the for­est fence

By Saint Ag­nes’ fount­ain.

Bring me flesh

and bring me wine

Bring me pine logs hi­ther

You and I will see him dine

When we bear them thi­ther.

Page and mon­arch

forth they went

Forth they went to­ge­ther

Through the cold wind’s wild la­ment

And the bit­ter wea­ther.

Sire

the night is dark­er now

And the wind blows strong­er

Fails my heart

I know not how;

I can go no long­er.

Mark my foots­teps

my good page

Tread now in them bold­ly

You shall find the win­ter’s rage

Freeze your blood less cold­ly.

In his mast­er’s steps he trod

Where the snow lay dint­ed;

Heat was in the ve­ry sod

Which the saint had print­ed.

Therefore

Christ­ian men

be sure

Wealth or rank pos­ses­sing

You who now will bless the poor

Shall your­selves find bless­ing.