Good King Wenceslas

Good King Wenceslas looked out
 On the feast of Stephen
 Where the snow lay round about
 Deep and crisp and even
 Brightly shown 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 knows 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 Saint Agnes fountain
 Bring me flesh, and bring me wine
 Bring me pine logs hither
 Thou and I will see him dine
 When we bear the 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 much 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 dented
 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
 Blessed are the poor
 Blessed are the meek
 Blessed are the ones who give
 Despite their own need
 Blessed are the poor
 Blessed are the meek
 And blessed are the ones who give