Good King Wenceslaus 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 winter fuel

"Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou knowst 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 fence, by St. Anges' fountain"

"Bring me flesh and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither
Thou 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 blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer"
"Mark my footsteps good, my page, tred 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 hath printed
Therefore Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing