Pauvre et sans apparence,
O Jésus notre roi,
Tu portes nos souffrances
En mourant sur la croix.
Heureux cdlui qui croit !
Il trouve l'espérance
Et l'amour dans la foi.
Lo, how a rose is growing,
a bloom of finest grace ;
the prophets had foretofd it :
a branch of Jesse's race
would bear one perferct flower
here in the cold winter
and darkest midnight hour.
The rose of which I'm singing,
Isaiah had foretold.
He came to us through Mary
who shetered him from cold.
Through God's eternal will
this child to us was given
at midnight calm and still.
The shepherds heard the story
the angels sang that night :
how Christ was born of Mary ;
he was the Son of light.
To Bethlehem they ran
to find him in the manger
as angel heralds sang.
This flower, so small and tender,
with fragrance fills the air ;
his brightness ends the darkness
that kept the earth in fear.
True God and yet true man,
he came to save his people
from earth's dark night of sin.
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