All glory, laud, and honour

Jerusalem the golden! With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest: I know not, oh, I know not What joys await us there; What radiancy of glory,

Brief life is here our portion, Brief sorrow, short-lived care: The Life that knows no ending, The tearless Life, is there.

Good King Wenceslas look'd out On the Feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, Deep, and crisp, and even.

Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, Bring me pine-logs hither.

In his master’s steps he trod, Where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod Which the Saint had printed.

O come, O come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel.