Es Ist Ein' Ros'

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 Saviour

When half spent was the night.