I know a rose-tree springing

forth from an ancient root

as men of old were singing

From Jesse came a shoot

that bore a blossom bright

amid the cold of winter

when half-spent was the night

This rose-tree, blossom laden

whereof Isaiah spake

is Mary, spotless maiden

who mothered, for our sake

the little child, new born

by God’s eternal counsel

on that first Christmas morn