The Hymns and Carols of Christmas

There Is A Floure Sprung Of A Tre

For Christmas

Words Attributed to John Audelay

Compare:  There is a floure sprung of a tree

Alia cantalena de Sancta Maria.

    There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
    The rote therof is called Jesse —
         A Floure of pryce!
    Ther is non seche in paradise!


This Flour is fayre and fresche of heue;
    Hit fadis never, bot ever is new;
The blisful branche this Flour on grew
    Was Maré myld that bare Jhesu —
            A Flour of grace!
    Agayns al sorow hit is solas!
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

The Sede hereof was Godis sond,
    That God himselve sew with his hond;
In Bedlem, in that Holé Lond,
    In medis here herbere ther he hir fond.6
            This blisful Floure
    Sprang never bot in Maris boure!
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

When Gabrael this mayd met,
    With “Ave, Maria,” he here gret;
Betwene hem two this Flour was set,
    And kept was, no mon schul wit,
            Hent on a day
    In Bedlem, hit con spred and spray.
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

When that Floure began to sprede,
    And his blossum to bede,
Ryche and pore of everé sede,
    Thai marvelt hou this Flour myght sprede!
            Til kyngys thre
    That blesful Floure come to se.
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

Angelis ther cam out of here toure
    To loke apon this freschelé Floure —
Houe fayre he was in his coloure,
    And hou sote in his savour! —
            And to behold
    How soche a Flour myght spryng in golde!
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

Of lillé, of rose of ryse,
    Of prymrol, and of flour-de-lyse,
Of al the flours at my devyse,
    Thet Floure of Jesse yet bers the prys,
            As most of hele
    To slake oure sorous everedele!
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

I pray youe, flours of this cuntré,
    Whereevere ye go, wereever ye be,
Hold hup the Flour of good Jesse,
    Fore your freschenes and youre beuté,
            As fayrist of al,
    And ever was and ever schal!
         There is a Floure sprung of a tre,
         The rote therof is called Jesse —
            A Floure of pryce!
         Ther is non seche in paradise!

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