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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 the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight gath'ring winter fuel
Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st 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
Thou and I will see him 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 or winter weather

Sire, the night is darker now, and the winds blow stronger Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer Mark my footsteps, my good page Treadst 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 the very sod which the saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing