A spotless Rose is blowing,
sprung from a tender root,
Of ancient seers’ foreshowing
of Jesse promised fruit;
Its fairest bud unfolds to light
Amid the cold, cold winter;
and in the dark midnight.
The Rose which I am singing,
whereof Isaiah said,
Is from its sweet root springing
in Mary, purest Maid;
For, through our God’s great love and might,
The blessed Babe she bare us
in a cold, cold winter’s night.
This Flower, whose fragrance tender
with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendour
the darkness everywhere;
True Man, yet very God,
From sin and death
He saves us