“Lo, how a rose e’er blooming, From tender stem hath sprung. Of Jesse’s lineage coming, As men of old have sung; It came, a flow’ret 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…
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