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 floweret bright, amid the cold of winter, When half spent was the night. Isaiah 'twas foretold it, the Rose I have in mind; 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. This Flower, whose fragrance tender with sweetness fills the air, Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere; True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us, And lightens every load.