Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal: IV. A Spotless Rose

A Spotless Rose is growing,

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 the dark midnight.

The Rose which I am singing,

Whereof Isaiah said,

Is from its sweet root springing

In Mary, purest Maid;

Through God’s great love and might

The Blessed Babe she bare us

Amid the cold, cold winter

And the dark midnight.