Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DIES IRAE DIES ILLA, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "hears't thou, my soul, what serious things" Last Line: "my hope, my fear! My judge, my friend! / take charge of me, and of my end" Subject(s): Judgment Day; End Of The World;doomsday;fall Of Man | ||||||||
Hears't thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and sybyll sings Of a sure judge, from whose sharp Ray The world in flames shall fly away. O that fire! before whose face Heavn and earth shall find no place. O those eyes! whose angry light Must be the day of that dread Night. O that trump! whose blast shall run An even round with the circling Sun. And urge the murmuring graves to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his king. Horror of nature, hell and Death! When a deep Groan from beneath Shall cry we come, we come and all The caves of night answer one call. O that Book! whose leaves so bright Will sett the world in severe light. O that Judge! whose hand, whose eye None can indure; yet none can fly. Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? And to what Patron chuse to pray? When starres themselves shall stagger; and The most firm foot no more then stand. But thou giv'st leave (dread Lord) that we Take shelter from thy self, in thee; And with the wings of thine own dove Fly to thy scepter of soft love. Dear, remember in that Day Who was the cause thou cam'st this way. Thy sheep was stray'd; And thou wouldst be Even lost thy self in seeking me. Shall all that labour, all that cost Of love, and ev'n that losse, be lost? And this lov'd soul, judg'd worth no lesse Then all that way, and wearynesse? Just mercy then, thy Reckning be With my price, and not with me 'Twas pay'd at first with too much pain, To be pay'd twice; or once, in vain. Mercy (my judge) mercy I cry With blushing Cheek and bleeding ey, The conscious colors of my sin Are red without and pale within. O let thine own soft bowells pay Thy self; And so discharge that day. If sin can sigh, love can forgive. O say the word my Soul shall live. Those mercyes which thy MARY found Or who thy crosse confes't and crown'd, Hope tells my heart, the same loves be Still alive; and still for me. Though both my Prayres and teares combine, Both worthless are; For they are mine. But thou thy bounteous self still be; And show thou art, by saving me. O when thy last Frown shall proclaim The flocks of goates to folds of flame, And all thy lost sheep found shall be, Let come ye blessed then call me. When the dread ITE shall divide Those Limbs of death from thy left side, Let those life-speaking lipps command That I inheritt thy right hand. O hear a suppliant heart; all crush't And crumbled into contrite dust. My hope, my fear! my Judge, my Friend! Take charge of me, and of my END. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON ETHNIC DEFINITIONS by ELEANOR WILNER THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL by WILLIAM BLAKE THE END OF THE WORLD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY 1X1 (ONE TIMES ONE): 20 by EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS ONCE BY THE PACIFIC by ROBERT FROST TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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