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