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Good king |
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Wenceslas looked out |
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On the feast of stephen |
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When the snow lay 'round about |
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Deep and crisp and even |
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Though the frost was cruel |
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When a poor man came in sight |
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Gath'ring winter fuel"Hither, page, and stand by meIf thou know'st it, tellingYonder peasant, who is he?Where and what his dwelling?""SireHe lives a good league henceUnderneath the mountainBy saint agnes' fountain""Bring me flesh and bring me wineBring me pine-logs hitherThou and i shall see him dineWhen we bear them thither" |
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Page and monarch, forth they went |
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Forth they went together |
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Through the rude wind's wild lament |
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And the bitter weather"Sire, the night is darker nowAnd the wind blows strongerFails my heart, i know not howI can go no longer""Mark my footsteps, good my pageTread thou in them boldlyThou shall find the winter's rageFreeze thy blood less coldly" |
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In his master's step he trod |
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Where the snow lay dinted |
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Heat was in the very sod |
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Which the saint had printed |
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Therefore, christian men, be sure |
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Wealth or rank possessing |
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Ye, who now will bless the poor |
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Shall yourselves find blessing |
