From
Mozart's Requiem
Wondrous
sound the trumpet flingeth,
Through
earth's sepulchres it ringeth,
All
before the throne it bringeth.
Death
is struck and nature quaking,
All
creation is awakening,
To
its Judge an answer making.
Lo!
the book exactly worded,
Wherein
all hath been recorded;
Thence
shall judgment be awarded.
When
the Judge His seat attaineth,
And
each hidden deed arraigneth,
Nothing
unavenged remaineth.
What
shall I, frail man, be pleeding?
Who
for me be interceding,
When
the just are mercy needing?