A lovely rose is sprung,
Out of a tender root,
As men of old have sung,
From Jesse's stem a shoot.
And so a flower bright
Has bloomed in coldest winter
E'en in the deepest night.

The little rose I mean
Whereof Isaiah told,
Pure Mary, maid serene
Brought forth alone — behold:
Through God's eternal might
A little child she bore us
E'en in the deepest night.

Lovely lady, rein thy will,
Let my words a warning be,
Bid thy longing heart be still.
Wed no man. Remember me.

If my counsel like thee not,
Winsome beauty, bright of blee,
Thou knows't not what deeds I've wrought.
Wed no man. Remember me.

If thou knows't not they are clay:
That slim form eyes may not see,
That round breast silk hides away.
Wed no man. Remember me.

Keep my counsel lest thou slip.
If love or hate men offer thee,
Hide thy heart and hoard thy lip.
Wed no man. Remember me.

Lovely lady, fairest of the time,
hiding away in an empty valley;
daughter of a good house, she said,
fallen now among grasses of the wood
“There was tumult and death within the passes then;
my brothers, old and young, were killed.
Office, position—what help were they?
I couldn't even gather up my brothers' bones!
The world despises you when your luck is down;
all I had went with the turn of the flame.
My husband was a fickle fellow,
his new girl as fair as jade.
Blossoms that close at dusk keep faith with the hour,

Love within the lover's breast
Burns like Hesper in the west,
O'er the ashes of the sun,
Till the day and night are done;
Then when dawn drives up her car—
Lo! it is the morning star.

Love! thy love pours down on mine
As the sunlight on the vine,
As the snow-rill on the vale,
As the salt breeze in the sail;
As the song unto the bird,
On my lips thy name is heard.

As a dewdrop on the rose
In thy heart my passion glows,
As a skylark to the sky,
Up into thy breast I fly;
As a sea-shell of the sea

Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly.
Far from base earth, but not to mount too high.
For true pleasure
Lives in measure,
Which, if men forsake,
Blinded they into folly run, and grief for pleasure take.

But my vain hopes, proud of their new-taught flight,
Enamored, sought to woo the sun's fair light,
Whose rich brightness
Moved their lightness
To aspire so high,
That, all scorched and consumed with fire, now drowned in woe they lie.

And none but Love their woeful hap did rue;

Love thy God and love Him only:
And thy breast will ne'er be lonely.
In that one great Spirit meet
All things mighty, grave and sweet.
Vainly strives the soul to mingle
With a being of our kind:
Vainly heart with our hearts are twined.
For the deepest still is single.
An impalpable resistance
Holds like nature's still at distance.
Mortal! Love that Holy One!
Or dwell for aye alone.

The love that I hae chosen,
I'll therewith be content;
The saut sea sall be frozen
Before that I repent.
Repent it sall I never
Until the day I dee;
But the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinn'd my love and me.

My love he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,
And my love and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about.

There sall nae mantle cross my back,
Nor kaim gae in my hair,

VERSE 1

Though it's a fickle age,
With flirting all the rage,
Here is one bird with self-control,
Happy inside my cage.
I know who I love best,
Thumbs down on all the rest,
My love was given heart and soul,
So it can stand the test.

REFRAIN

No one to talk with,
All by myself,
No one to walk with
But I'm happy on the shelf,
Ain't misbehavin',
I'm savin' my love for you.
I know for certain
The one I love,
I'm through with flirtin',

Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, but I won't tell who.
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
And I hope somebody loves me too.

Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, but I won't tell who.
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
Love somebody, yes I do;
'Tween sixteen and twenty-two.

Love on a day (wise poets tell)
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets should excel,
Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls, she fell on you
And beat you so, (as some dare say)
Her blows did make you blue.