1 Lo, a fair Rose ablooming
From tender root hath sprung,
Of Jesse’s lineage coming,
As men aforetime sung;
It bears a Floweret bright,
While reigns the cold midwinter
And darkest is the night.

2 The little Rose I’m singing,
Whereof Isaiah spoke,
Mary to us is bringing,
A maid of humble folk;
By God’s eternal might
For us a Child she beareth,
While darkest is the night.

3 The Floweret is so lowly,
Whose fragrance none can tell,
With brightness strange and holy
Doth all our dark dispel;
True Man, true God is He;
From every ill He saveth;
God grant we saved may be!