Dies Ire
Day of wrath, and lightning stroke, Day of which the prophets spoke, Ends our present age in smoke.
Trembles all the world in fear, To see her mighty Judge draw near, Our several causes for to hear.
Hark! The Trumpet's awful boom Rousing dead from out the tomb Summons all to hear their doom.
Nature wonders in surprise To see us mortal creatures rise To answer at the great Assize.
For there, arraigned before the ikons Each his secret sin must own, And every wrong must be undone.
What can words of mine avail? Who will succour miscreant pale, When even righteous men must quail?
Oh King of fearful majesty, Whom thou savest, saving free, Thou fount of righteousness, save me.
Lord, remember me, I pray, Me for whom thou passed this way, Nor let me perish on that day.
Weary footed, thou bast sought Me out and by thy passion bought; Set not all thy pain at nought.
Mine the felon's guilty plea, Downcast face, and suppliant knee, Thou Lord of mercy, pardon me.
Thy pardon soothed the Magdalen's grief, And comforted the dying thief, So even I dare hope relief.
Set me, Lord, amongst thy sheep, On thy right my place to keep, Nor cast me down from heaven's steep.
Broken-hearted, bowed, I bend, God, Judge, Advocate. and'Friend; Stand beside me at my end.
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