Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming 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 fl ow’ret bright Amid the cold of winter When half-spent was the night. Isaiah ’twas foretold it, This Rose that I have in mind. And with Mary we behold it, The Virgin Mother so sweet and so kind. To show God’s love aright, She bore to men a Saviour When half-spent was the night. 7 Cold Song What power art thou who from below Hast made me rise unwillingly and slow From beds of everlasting snow? See’st thou not how stiff, how stiff and wondrous old, Far, far unfi t to bear the bitter cold? I can scarcely move or draw my breath: Let me, let me, let me freeze again to death.