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作词 : Neale |
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Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen, |
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When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. |
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Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, |
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When a poor man came in sight, gath’ring winter fuel. |
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“Hither, page, and stand by me, if you know it, telling, |
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Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?” |
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“Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain, |
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Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes’ fountain.” |
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“Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger, |
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Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.” |
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“Mark my footsteps, my good page, tread now in them boldly, |
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You shall find the winter’s rage freeze your blood less coldly.” |
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In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted; |
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Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed. |
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Therefore, Christian men, be sure, while God’s gifts possessing, |
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You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing. |
