Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming From tender stem hath sprung! Of Jesse's lineage coming As seers of old have sung. It came, a blossom bright, Amid the cold of winter, When half-spent was the night. Isaiah 'twas foretold it, The Rose I have in mind, With Mary we behold it, The Virgin Mother kind. To show God's love aright, She bore to us a Savior, When half spent was the night. O Flower, whose fragrance tender With sweetness fills the air, Dispel in glorious splendor The darkness everywhere; True man, yet very God, From sin and death now save us, And share our every load. |