Good King Wenceslaus
Pierce Murphy
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One of my favorite Christmas Carols done in a trad jazz way.
Pierce Murphy - vocal, guitar
Brendan O'Donoghue - upright bass
Collin Sitgreaves - drum set
Engineered and produced by Pierce Murphy
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
Where 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
Gathering winter's fuel
Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou knowest, 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 food, bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
You and me are gonna see him dine
When we bear them thither
So page and monarch, forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather
Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind grows stronger
Steal my heart, I know not how
I can go no longer
Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
You will find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly
In his masters step he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
That the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
You who now that bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing
Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the Feast of Stephen
Where 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
Gathering winter's fuel
Hither, page, and stand by me,
If thou knowest, 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 food, bring me wine
Bring me pine logs hither
You and me are gonna see him dine
When we bear them thither
So page and monarch, forth they went
Forth they went together
Through the rude wind's wild lament
And the bitter weather
Sire, the night is darker now
And the wind grows stronger
Steal my heart, I know not how
I can go no longer
Mark my footsteps, my good page
Tread thou in them boldly
You will find the winter's rage
Freeze thy blood less coldly
In his masters step he trod
Where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very sod
That the Saint had printed
Therefore, Christian men, be sure
Wealth or rank possessing
You who now that bless the poor
Shall yourselves find blessing