Good King Wenceslas

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 fuel
'Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind blows stronger
Fails my heart, I know not how
I can go no longer'
'Ark 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 step he trod
Where the snow lay dented
Heat was in the very sod
Which the saint had printed
Page and monarch, forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather