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The Dies Iræ.
69
4.
What can e'er that woe reſemble
Where even Death and Nature tremble
As the riſing throngs aſſemble!
5.
Vain, my ſoul, is all concealing;
For the Book is brought, revealing
Every deed and thought and feeling.
6.
On His throne the Judge is ſeated,
And our ſins are loud repeated,
And to each is vengeance meted.
7.
Wretched me! How gain a hearing,
Where the righteous falter, fearing,
At the pomp of His appearing?
