Tuba Mirum

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?