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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