Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming 
From tender stem hath sprung! 
Of Jesse's lineage coming, 
As those 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 behold it, 
The Virgin Mother kind. 
To show God's love aright, 
She bore to us a Savior, 
When half spent was the night.