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, gathering with her fewer Hear the page and stand by me, if thou know'st it telling Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling? Sigh, he lives a goodly glimpse 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 him dying when we bring them thither Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together Through the rude winds, wild lament, and the bitter weather Sigh, the night is darker now and the wind grows stronger Feels my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread thou in them boldly Thou shalt find the winter's rage, freeze thy bloodless coldly In his master's steps he trod, where the snow lay dented Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing He who now will bless the poor, shed yourselves thine blessing