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The Dies Iræ.
71
8.
King of majeſty and ſplendor,
Fount of pity, true and tender,
Be, Thyſelf, my ſtrong defender.
9.
From Thy woes my hope I borrow:
I did cauſe Thy way of ſorrow:
Do not loſe me on that morrow.
10.
Seeking me, Thou weary sankeſt,
Nor from ſcourge and croſs Thou ſhrankeſt
Make not vain the cup Thou drankeſt.
11.
Thou wert righteous even in ſlaying;
Yet forgive my guilty ſtraying,
Now, before that day diſmaying.
