Monday, 12/26/16
Here is a song for this feast of Stephen.
Good King Wenceslas
looked out on the feast of Stephen,
when the snow lay round
about, deep and crisp and even.
Brightly shown the moon
that night, though the frost was cruel,
when a poor man came in
sight, gathering winter fuel.
Hither, page, and stand
by me. If thou know 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 flesh, and
bring me wine. Bring me pine logs hither.
Thou and I will see him
dine when we bear them thither.
Page and monarch, forth
they went, forth they went together
through the rude wind's
wild lament, and the bitter weather.
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 good,
my page, tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze
thy blood less coldly.
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