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Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about,
Deep and crisp and even ;
Brightly shone ten moon that night,
Though the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight,
Gathering winter fu-u-el.
« Hither, page and stand by me,
If thou know'st it, teeling,
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 St. Agnes' fountain. »
« Bring me flesh and bring me wine,
Bring me pine logs hither :
Thou and I will see dine,
When we bear them thither. »
Page and monarch, forth they went,
Forth they went together ;
Through the rude 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, good my page ;
Tread thou in them boldly :
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly. »
In his master's steps he trod,
Where the snow lay dinted ;
Heat was in very sod
Which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men, be sure,
Wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who nom will bless the poor,
Shall yourselves find blessing.
