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
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 him thither
Page and monarch
Forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's
wild lament
And the bitter weather
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