looked out on the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about,
Brightly shone the moon that night,
though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight,
Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou know'st it telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he,
Where and what his dwelling?
Sire, he lives on Woodley Pence,
Riding against the forest fence
Bring me flesh and bring me wine,
bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see him dine
Page and monarch forth they went,
Through the rude winds wild lament,
Sire, the night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart, I know not how,
Tread thou in them boldly,
Thou shalt find the winter's rage,
freeze thy blood less coldly.
In his master's steppe he trod,
where the snow lay din ted.
which the saint had printed.
Therefore, Christian men,
be sure, wealth or rank possessing,
Ye who now will bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing!
Shall yourselves find blessing!