| Good king wenceslas looked out |
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When the snow lay round about |
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Brightly shone the moon that night |
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Though the frost was cruel |
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When a poor man came in sight |
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"Hither, page, and stand by me |
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If thou know'st it, telling |
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Yonder peasant, who is he? |
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Where and what his dwelling?" |
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"Sire, he lives a good league hence |
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Right against the forest fence |
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By saint agnes' fountain." |
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"Bring me flesh and bring me wine |
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Bring me pine logs hither |
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Thou and i will see him dine |
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When we bear him thither." |
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Page and monarch forth they went |
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Through the rude wind's wild lament |
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"Sire, the night is darker now |
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And the wind blows stronger |
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Fails my heart, i know not how, |
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"Mark my footsteps, my good page |
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Tread thou in them boldly |
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Thou shalt find the winter's rage |
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Freeze thy blood less coldly". |
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In his master's steps he trod |
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Where the snow lay dinted |
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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 |
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