Good King Wenceslas look'd out, On the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, Deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, Tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight Gath'ring winter fuel.
Hither, page, and stand by me, If thou knows't 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;
Thro' 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 foot-steps, my good page, Tread thou in them boldly:
Thou shalt find the winter's rage, Freeze thy blood less coldly."
On his master's steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted;
Heat was in the very sod, Which the saint had printed;
Therefore, Christian men, be sure, Wealth or rank posessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor, Shall yourselves find blessing.
Special Feature: Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol :
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.
