All: 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 winter fuel.
Men: Hither page and stand by me,
if thou knowest tell me,
yonder peasant who is he,
where and what his dwelling?
Women: Sire he lives good league hence,
underneath the mountain.
Right against the forest fence,
by St. Agnes fountain.
Men: Bring me fleash, and bring me wine,
bring me pine logs hither.
Thou and I will see him dine,
when we bare him thither.
All: Page and Monarch forth they went,
forth they went together,
through the rude wind's wild lament,
and the bitter weather.
Women: Sire the night is darker now,
and the wind grows stronger.
Bares my heart I know not how,
I can go no longer.
Men: Mark my footsteps good my Page,
tread now in them boldly.
Thou will find the winter's rage
freeze thy blood less coldly.
All: 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,
rank or wealth possesing,
he who thou will bless the poor,
shall yourself find blessing!