Simple Sabbath: Good King Wenceslas

Lately, I have found myself particularly interested in some of the more traditional Christmas carols.  Our family has loved singing about that chubby goose soon to be gracing the Christmas dinner table after a (hopefully) swift demise...Although putting a penny in an old man's hat seems a bit insulting since that means the poor guy will now be forced to carry loose change.  It's a catchy tune that we've been singing for two Christmases now. 

This interest has led me to be more curious about others we've heard in passing, written in days of yore and spreading holiday cheer throughout ages.  One in particular captured my curiosity recently.  'Good King Wenceslas'  has a beautiful melody. If you don't recognize it right away, you will once you hear it.

 It's in everything from Captain Jean Luc Picard's version of 'A Christmas Carol' (seriously...Patrick Stewart= BEST. EBENEZER. SCROOGE. EVER!) to a very scary Tom Hanks ghost singing it while sitting on top of the Polar Express to Hugh Grant singing it as the British Prime Minister. 

I finally decided to look up the words with the intent to teach it to our family this year.  I was never expecting what I found.  It turned out to be one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.  It speaks a universal truth in the tale of the patron saint of the Czech Republic, Wenceslas I, Duke of Bohemia.

Any commentary I could attempt to make would be an inefficient effort to improve upon it.  So I'm just going to leave you with the words to the song.

 Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen, when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even. Brightly shown the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fuel.

Hither, page, and stand by me. If thou know 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 the thither.  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 blows stronger. Fails my heart, I know not how. I can go no longer. Ark my footsteps my good page, tread thou in them boldly: Thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze thy blood less coldly.

In his master's step he trod, where the snow lay dented. Heat was in the very sod 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