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Lyrics

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, gath'ring winter fuel.

"Hi ther, page and stand by me, if thou know'st 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. "