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 ‘Hither, page, and stand by me If thou know’st 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 food and bring me wine Bring me pine logs hither Thou and I will see him