1 Lo, how a Rose e’er blooming
from tender stem has sprung!
Of Jesse’s lineage coming
as saints of old have sung.
It came, a floweret bright,
amid the cold of winter,
when half spent was the night.

2 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.

3 Flower, whose fragrance tender
with sweetness fills the air,
dispel in glorious splendor
gloom and grief ev’rywhere.
True man, yet very God,
from sin and death he saves us,
and lightens ev’ry load.