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Good King |
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Wenceslas looked out |
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On the feast of |
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Stephen, When the snow lay round about |
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Deep and crisp and even |
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Brightly shone the moon that night |
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Though the frost was cruel |
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When a poor man came in sight |
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Gathering winter fuel |
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Hither, page, and stand by me |
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If thou knowst it telling |
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Yonder peasant, who is he |
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Where and what his dwelling |
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Sire, he lives a good league hence |
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Underneath the mountain |
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Right against the forest fence |
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By Saint Agnes fountain |
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Bring me flesh and bring me wine |
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Bring me pine logs hither |
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Thou and I will see him dine |
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When we bear them thither |
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Page and monarch, forth they went |
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Forth they went together |
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Through the rude wind's wild lament |
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And the bitter weather |
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Sire, the night is darker now |
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And the wind blows stronger |
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Fails my heart, |
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I know not how |
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I can go no longer |
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Mark my footsteps my good page |
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Tread thou in them boldly |
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Thou shalt find the winter's rage |
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Freeze thy blood less coldly |
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In his master's steps he trod |
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Where the snow lay dented |
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Heat was in the very sod |
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Which the saint had printed |
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Therefore, |
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Christian men, be sure |
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Wealth or rank possessing |
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Ye who now will bless the poor |
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Shall yourselves find blessing |