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 you know'st, 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 fence
By Saint Agnes' fountain."

"Bring me food, and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither:
You and I will 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 blow stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how;
I can go no longer."
"Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread now in them boldly
You shalt find the winter's rage
Freeze your 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
You who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing