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,
Hear the page and stand by me,
If thou know'st it telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he?
Where and what is dwelling?
Sire, he lives a good week hence
Right against the forest fence
Bring me pine logs hither
Thou and I will see Him dine
when we bear them thither
Page and monarch forth they went,
wild lament and the bitter weather
Sire, night is darker now,
And the wind blows stronger,
Fails my heart, I know not how,
Mark my footsteps, cut my page,
Tread thou in them boldly,
Thou shalt find the winter's rage
Breeze thy blood less coldly
In his master's steps he trod
Where the snow lay linted
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
