Lo, how a rose e’re blooming
From tenderstem hath sprung,
Of Jesse’s lineage coming
As men of old have sung.
It came, a floweret 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 beheld it,
The virgin mother kind.
To show God’s love aright
She bore to them a Savior,
When half spent was the night.