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;
With Ma­ry we be­hold it,
The vir­gin mo­ther kind.
To show God’s love aright,
She bore to men a Sav­ior,
When half spent was the night.

The shep­herds heard the sto­ry
Proclaimed by an­gels bright,
How Christ, the Lord of glo­ry
Was born on earth this night.
To Beth­le­hem they sped
And in the man­ger found Him,
As an­gel her­alds said.

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.

O Sav­ior, child of Ma­ry,
Who felt our hu­man woe,
O Sav­ior, King of glo­ry,
Who dost our weak­ness know;
Bring us at length we pray,
To the bright courts of Hea­ven,
And to the end­less day!