Our Lady is the mystic rose that bloomed in Nazareth
Against whose blessèd heart there lay the Lord of life and death.

She is the rose without a thorn that grew on Jesse's stem,
The Rose of roses on her breast was lulled in Bethlehem.

To this white rose at God's command the Angel Gabriel came,
With promise of the Blessèd One and message of His Name.

Our Lady is the pale pink rose in whom all fragrance lies,
Her summer was in Jesus' kiss, her sunshine in His eyes.

She is the golden-hearted rose that held our perfect joy;
When in her arms against her heart she clasped her heavenly Boy.

Our Lady is the red, red rose upon a royal tree,
Deep red for love and red for grief, the reddest rose was she
Whose soul was pierced by sorrow's sword on cross-crowned Calvary.