Lo, how a rose e'er blooming from tender stem hath sprung, of Jesse's lineage coming, as men of old have sung. It came, a flow'ret 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 for us a Savior, when half-spent was the night.
This flow'r, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air, dispels with glorious splendor the darkness ev'rywhere. True man, yet very God; from sin and death he saves us and lightens ev'ry load.
O Savior, Child of Mary, who felt our human woe; O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know, bring us at last, we pray, to the bright courts of heaven and to thy endless day.