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

Gath'ring winter fu-u-el



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 Saint Agnes fou-ountain



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 ble-essing