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The Dies Iræ.
65
16.
When the wicked are confounded,
And by bitter flames ſurrounded,
Be my joyful pardon founded!
17.
Proſtrate, all my guilt diſcerning,
Heart as though to aſhes turning;
Save, O ſave me from the burning!
18.
Day of weeping, when from aſhes
Man ſhall riſe mid lightning flames,
Guilty, trembling with contrition,
Save him, Father, from perdition!
