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,
Gathering 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.
Mark 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 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 yourself find blessing.
We
three kings of Orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain,
moor and mountain,
following yon der star.
O star of wonder, star of night,
star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
guide us to thy perfect light.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.
Angels we have heard on high,
sweetly singing o 'er the plains,
And the mountains in reply,
echoing their joyous strains,
Glory in excelsis Deo.