Good King Lanceslas 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
"Give there, page, and stand by me
If thou knowest telling
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what his dwelling?"
"Sire, he lives a good league hence
Underneath the mountain
Right against a forest fence
By Saint Agnes′ fountain"
"Bring me flesh and bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I shall see him dine
When we bear him 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 darkening
And the wind grows 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
When the snow lay dented
Feet was in the very sod
Which the saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth and rank possessing
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing
Writer(s): Traditional, Richard Blackmore Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
