A Spotless Rose


 

A Spotless Rose

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.