Good king 
Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of stephen
When the snow lay 'round about
Deep and crisp and even
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
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"
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 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"
In his master's step 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