itself and thee With its foreboding presence?
Woe! Woe! Oh could I free me from the thoughts That hither, thither, crowd
upon my brain, Against my will!
Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla.
Grim horror seizes thee! The trumpet sounds! The graves are shaken! And
thy heart From ashy rest For torturing flames A new created, Trembles into
Would I were hence! It is as if the organ Choked my breath, As if the choir
Judex ergo cum sedebit, Quidquid latet adparebit, Nil inultum remanebit.