Good King Wenceslas looked out
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On the Feast of Stephen
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When the snow lay 'round about
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Deep and crisp and even
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Brightly shone
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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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Gath'ring winter fuel
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Hither, page, and stand by me
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If thou know'st 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
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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 shall see him dine
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When we bear them thither
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Page and monarch
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forth they went
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Forth they went together
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Through the rude wind's
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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, I know not how
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I can go no longer
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Mark my footsteps, good my page
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Tread thou in them boldly
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Thou shall find
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the winter's rage
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Freeze thy blood less coldly
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In his master's step he trod
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Where the snow lay dinted
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Heat was in the very sod
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Which the Saint had printed
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Therefore, Christian men,
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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
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¶°³ ³²ÀÚ ( °æÀ½¾Ç )
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