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The Dies Iræ.
85
16.
When the dread “ITE” ſhall divide
Thoſe limbs of death from Thy left ſide,
Let thoſe life-ſpeaking lips command
That I inherit Thy right hand!
17.
O, hear a ſuppliant heart all cruſh'd,
And crumbled into contrite duſt!
My hope, my fear—my Judge, my Friend!
Take charge of me, and of my end!
