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.
Hither page and stand by me,
If thou knowst 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 St Agnes' fountain.
Bring me flesh and bring me wine,
Bring me pine logs hither,
Thou and I shall see him dine,
'Ere we dine together.
Page and monarch forth they went,
Forth they went together,
Through the rude winds wild lament,
And the bitter weather.
Sire the night is colder now,
And the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart, I know not how,
I can go no longer.
Mark my footsteps good my page,
Step thou in them boldly,
Thou shall find the winter rain,
Freeze thy blood less coldly.
In his master's steps he trod,
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod,
Where the saint had printed.
Therefore Christian men be sure,
Wealth and rank possessing,
He who first shall bless the poor,
Shall himself find blessing.

ENVIAR CORREÇÕES