Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming
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 flow’ret bright, Amid the cold of winter, When halfspent 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,