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, tho' 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 fencе, by Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me flesh, and bring mе wine, bring me pine logs hither:
Thou and I shall see him dine, when 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 now, and the wind blows stronger;
Fails 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 blood less coldly."

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