Good King Wen-ces-las
looked out
on the feast of Ste-phen
When the snow lay round a-bout,
deep and crisp and e-ven.
Bright-ly shone the moon that
night.
Though the frost was cru-el,
When a poor man came in sight,
Gath'-ring win-ter fu--el.
Hi-ther page, and stand by me,
If thou know'st it tell-ing,
Yon-der pea-sant who is he?
Where and what his dwell-ing?
Sire, he lives a good league hence,
Un-der-neath the moun-tain;
Right a-gainst the for-est fence,
By St. Ag-nes' foun--tain.
Bring me flesh and bring me wine,
bring me pine-logs hi-ther;
Thou and I will see him dine,
when we bear them thi-ther.
Page and mon-arch forth they went,
Forth they went to-geth-er;
Through the rude wind's wild la-ment,
And the bit-ter wea--ther.
Sire, the night is dark-er now,
And the wind blows strong-er;
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no long-er.
Mark my foot-steps Good My Page!
Tread thou in them bold-ly:
Thou shalt find the win-ter's rage
Freeze thy blood less cold--ly.
In his mas-ter's steps he trod,
Where the snow lay dint-ed;
Heat was in the ve-ry sod
Which the saint had print-ed.
There-fore Christ-ian men, be sure,
Wealth or rank pos-sess-ing,
Ye who now will bless the poor,
Shall your-selves find bless--ing. |