He Is Risen! - 'Laudamus Te'

"The Resurrection", by Sebastiano Ricci

He is Risen, Alleluia, Alleluia!

Here's some joyful music for Easter Sunday, Laudamus Te ("We Praise You") from Mozart's Great Mass in C Minor, beautifully performed by Anne Sofie von Otter.

Mozart Requiem Introitus & Kyrie

From the manuscript of the Requiem, in Mozart's hand

     While it's not strictly speaking a Lenten composition, Mozart's Requiem Mass, which he was still composing at the time of his death, powerfully lends itself to the penitential nature of the liturgical season. 
     For more than two centuries a lively debate has gone on, and continues today, concerning who composed what parts of the Requiem and the somewhat murky circumstances of its commissioning and completion.  Notwithstanding the controversies both scholarly and fanciful (as in, for instance, the play and film Amadeus), Mozart's final work is a magnificent and moving composition.  
    The clip below, from a performance in St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna conducted by Sir Georg Solti, includes the Introit and the Kyrie.  When Mozart died he had finished the Introit; we have the composer's own notation for the vocal parts and portions of the orchestration for the Kyrie, which seems to have been put into its finished form by the composer's student Franz Joseph Süssmayr.

Mozart, Herbert, John The Baptist, And Why We Can't Be Angels

An earlier version of this Worth Revisiting post was published on June 16th, 2014. To enjoy the work of other faithful Catholic bloggers see Worth Revisiting Wednesday, hosted by Elizabeth Reardon at theologyisaverb.com and Allison Gingras at reconciledtoyou.com.

All in the Head

     The great composer W.A. Mozart, a Catholic, is reported to have said that “Protestantism was all in the head”, and that “Protestants did not know the meaning of the Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi [Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world]”.  I would not put it so harshly, but with all due respect to my friends among the separated brethren, there is at least an element of truth to this observation.   Protestantism on the whole is very uncomfortable with the corporeality of more traditional expressions of Christianity, starting with the Protestant rejection of the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the efficacy of sacraments in general, and carrying that same mind-set through to a suspicion of any physical expression of faith apart from the Scriptures themselves (and, in some congregations, speaking in tongues).  As a consequence, the Sign of the Cross, genuflection, rosaries, icons and statues all seem foreign to them. It almost appears that many of our Protestant friends, relying on Sola Scriptura and focusing on just The Word, are trying to uncarnate (so to speak) the Word made Flesh.

Sure, they may not look naked . . . 

     Many of them, but by no means all: there have always been some members of the reformation churches who understand and embrace the sacramental outlook that has been preserved in the Catholic and Orthodox Churches.  One such is the 17^th century English religious poet George Herbert.  Herbert was an Anglican cleric in addition to being a poet, and so he devoted a portion of his poetry to defending his church.  Being an Anglican, he directed some of his fire at the Catholic Church, as one would expect, mostly criticism of the papacy and what he considered a certain superficiality (needless to say, I don’t concur in these objections).  He reserves his harshest and most substantive criticism, however, for the protestant Puritans, whom he accuses in his poem “The British Church” of being “undrest”.  

Naked Puritans?

     Nakedness is not something most of us associate with Puritanism; what is Herbert getting at? One needs to look at his Latin poetry (which is, unfortunately, rarely read today) to get the full context for this criticism.  The Puritans, according to Herbert, miss the importance and implications of the Incarnation.  In his poem “In Angelos” (“On the Angels”) he says:

The perfected mind of Angels is not like ours at all,

            Which must by nature look to our senses

            For concrete images . . .

If it weren’t for concrete things,

we ourselves could not by thinking find

            what we are in ourselves.

            Intellectus adultus Angelorum

            Haud nostro similis, cui necesse,

            Ut dentur species, rogare sensum . . .

            Si non per species, nequimus ipsi,

            Quid ipsi sumus, assequi putando.

While Angels are pure intellect, we mortals must rely on sense experiences to attain knowledge.  That, it follows, is one reason at least why God became Man, and why he continues to speak to us through Sacraments, sacramentals, liturgies, devotions, etc.  The Puritans, however, have lost this vital understanding.  In “De Rituum Usu” (“On the Use of Rites”) Herbert says:

            And so the Puritans, while they are covetous of a

            Lord’s bride bare of sacred rites, and while they wish

            All things regressed to their fathers’ barbaric state,

            Lay her, entirely ignorant of clothing, bare to conquest

            By Satan and her enemies.

            Non alio Cathari modo

            Dom sponsam Domini piis

            Orbam ritibus expetunt,

            Atque ad barbariem partum

            Vellent Omnia regredi,

            Illam tegminis insciam

            Prorsus Daemoni et hostibus

            Exponunt superabilem.

Herbert uses clothing to represent liturgical rites, which are the concrete channels of God’s grace.  By doing away with such outward signs, the Puritans are aspiring to an Angelic state of understanding and failing to take into account our human limitations.  In denying our physicality, the Puritans have actually eliminated the means of achieving spiritual understanding.

The clothes don’t make the man, but . . .

John the Baptist, dressed for Prophecy

     I don’t believe that Herbert’s choice of symbol was lightly made.  He was fully committed to a very catholic version of Anglicanism. The fact is that clothing has important, often unconscious, symbolic meanings for people in every time and place (consider all the various uniforms, traditional attires, kinds of ritual or formal wear, etc. throughout the world), but especially for Catholic Christians because of our sacramental view of the universe.  Think back also through scripture to how often clothing is mentioned prominently: not just those first primitive garments worn by Adam and Eve that were the outward sign of their fall from grace, but Joseph’s coat that became a focus of his brothers’ jealousy, the special garments God commands the Aaronic priests to wear (which King David puts on to dance in front of the Arc of the Covenant), Jesus’ seamless garment for which his executioners cast dice, John the Baptist’s clothing of camel’s hair and skins.

     Speaking of John the Baptist, he is an interesting case. One reader of my recent post on Mass attire [here] asserted that God must not care how we dress, citing John the Baptist’s less-than-formal clothing in the desert as proof. It may not seem so at first glance, but John the Baptist is in fact not a refutation, but a very good illustration of the deep significance of dress. He was very aware of his appearance.  Like the Old Testament prophets, he carefully chose his dress and actions in order to represent spiritual truths in the physical realm (this is also at least part of the reason for the habits worn by religious orders, which another commenter mentioned).  By dressing like the Prophet Elijah (see 2 Kings 1:8) John asserts his prophetic authority, and the austerity of his apparel is a rebuke to the extravagance of the Temple priests and the legalism of the Pharisees.  If only we were all as conscious of our dress as John the Baptist was of his!

You mean it’s not all about what I want?

     For me, that earlier discussion of how we dress for Mass should be situated in the larger context of the sacramental view of the universe.  Catholics and Orthodox Christians are particularly aware of the deeper meaning of clothing, even when we resist it. Our tradition helps us to understand that how we dress for Mass is not important for its own sake (except, as I point out in the original post, in cases such as when one person’s provocative dress, for instance, is a temptation to others to violate the sixth commandment in their hearts) so much as for what it says about the importance we place on the Sacrament, and an expression of our love for Jesus Christ.  We used to know a family in which the father drove a delivery truck for a living; he was required to wear a company uniform on the job, and his work schedule was such that he could not attend Mass with his family unless he came straight from the job without changing, so he attended Sunday Mass in his worn blue coveralls.  I am sure that very few of us would find fault with his attire; in fact, we would see his determination to be present as the spiritual head of his family as an exemplary thing.  It’s a very different matter when we show up for Mass dressed for a barbeque or the beach simply because we didn’t bother to put on something more formal (and perhaps a little less comfortable), which sends the message that attending Mass is nothing special.

     How does all of this fit together?  I think we all have a tendency to get stuck in our own heads, as Mozart accuses the Protestants of doing, and Herbert likewise accuses the Puritans.  We don’t open ourselves up to God’s Grace as he wants to confer it, but try to put everything in neat categories of our own devising.  One purpose of many spiritual disciplines, including fasting and other mortifications, and of liturgical prayer such as the Liturgy of the Hours, has been to take our focus off our own will and desires, and instead orient ourselves to God’s will (see Romans 12:2).  If we find ourselves saying “God will understand  . . . “, well, of course, God understands everything.  The question is what, and how, do we understand?

     

Johann Christian Bach, Requiem Mass & Weekly Roundup

Thomas Gainsborough's portrait of J.C. Bach

   Johann Christian Bach (J. C. Bach) was the eleventh and youngest son of the great composer Johann Sebastian Bach. Like his father and most of his siblings, J. C. Bach was endowed by his creator with an impressive musical talent.  His compositional style bore more resemblance to that of his classical late eighteenth century contemporaries Joseph Haydn and Mozart (who was also his friend) than it did to the baroque compositions of his father, who was fifty years old when when Johann Sebastian was born.
     The clip below is from is from J. C. Bach's Requiem Mass, which he composed at the age of 22 when he was a student in Italy (where he also converted to Catholicism).
     

Weekly Roundup of Posts

“St. John Fisher and Religious Freedom” St. John Fisher was the only English bishop to resist King Henry VIII’s plan to turn the Catholic Church in England into a possession of the crown. Not a bad example for us today, as we again are faced with a state intent on swallowing absolutely everything else. [here]

“Forgiveness Reveals The Power Of The Gospel” In the aftermath of the horrific massacre at a historic African American church in Charleston, South Carolina, we see that Love informed by the Gospel of Jesus Christ overcomes hate. [here]

“In Defense Of Catholic Education” As the world around us becomes ever more insane, the need for education that is truly Catholic is greater than ever. [here]

“We Are Blind To Ourselves” God knows us better, much better, than we know ourselves, and his Church is just what we need. [here]

“‘Real Funny Jokes About Abortion?’ Dispatches From The Culture Of Death Part Two” Come on, laugh! You’re not one of those anti-choice nuts, are you? [here]

Corpus Christi: Mozart's 'Ave Verum Corpus'

So Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you;  he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.  For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.  He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. (John 6:53-56)

Weekly Roundup

Most of the week was taken up with administering and grading final exams, but I did find the time to bring back a few old favorites:

“On Being A Christian In Public Life” Some helpful guidance from the former Cardinal Ratzinger [here] 

“It is a fearful thing when man sets his will against the will of God” Funny how the same old evils keep coming back [here]  

“Vespers: 2^nd ‘Hinge’ of the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH 5)”  Praying the Liturgy of the Hours can give lay men and women a direct connection to the sweep of Salvation History [here] 

Mozart, Herbert, John the Baptist, and Why We Can't Be Angels

All in the Head

     The great composer W.A. Mozart (who, I must admit, has made more than one appearance on this blog) is reported to have said that “Protestantism was all in the head”, and that “Protestants did not know the meaning of the Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi [Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world]”.  I would not put it so harshly, but with all due respect to my friends among the separated brethren, there is at least an element of truth to this observation.   Protestantism on the whole is very uncomfortable with the corporeality of more traditional expressions of Christianity, starting with the Protestant rejection of the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the efficacy of sacraments in general, and carrying that same mind-set through to a suspicion of any physical expression of faith apart from the Scriptures themselves (and, in some congregations, speaking in tongues).  As a consequence, the Sign of the Cross, genuflection, rosaries, icons and statues all seem foreign to them. It almost appears that many of our Protestant friends, relying on Sola Scriptura and focusing on just The Word, are trying to uncarnate (so to speak) the Word made Flesh.

Sure, they may not look naked . . . 

     Many of them, but by no means all: there have always been some members of the reformation churches who understand and embrace the sacramental outlook that has been preserved in the Catholic and Orthodox Churches.  One such is the 17^th century English religious poet George Herbert.  Herbert was an Anglican cleric in addition to being a poet, and so he devoted a portion of his poetry to defending his church.  Being an Anglican, he directed some of his fire at the Catholic Church, as one would expect, mostly criticism of the papacy and what he considered a certain superficiality (needless to say, I don’t concur in these objections).  He reserves his harshest and most substantive criticism, however, for the protestant Puritans, whom he accuses in his poem “The British Church” of being “undrest”.  

Naked Puritans?

     Nakedness is not something most of us associate with Puritanism; what is Herbert getting at? One needs to look at his Latin poetry (which is, unfortunately, rarely read today) to get the full context for this criticism.  The Puritans, according to Herbert, miss the importance and implications of the Incarnation.  In his poem “In Angelos” (“On the Angels”) he says:

The perfected mind of Angels is not like ours at all,

            Which must by nature look to our senses

            For concrete images . . .

If it weren’t for concrete things,

we ourselves could not by thinking find

            what we are in ourselves.

            Intellectus adultus Angelorum

            Haud nostro similis, cui necesse,

            Ut dentur species, rogare sensum . . .

            Si non per species, nequimus ipsi,

            Quid ipsi sumus, assequi putando.

While Angels are pure intellect, we mortals must rely on sense experiences to attain knowledge.  That, it follows, is one reason at least why God became Man, and why he continues to speak to us through Sacraments, sacramentals, liturgies, devotions, etc.  The Puritans, however, have lost this vital understanding.  In “De Rituum Usu” (“On the Use of Rites”) Herbert says:

            And so the Puritans, while they are covetous of a

            Lord’s bride bare of sacred rites, and while they wish

            All things regressed to their fathers’ barbaric state,

            Lay her, entirely ignorant of clothing, bare to conquest

            By Satan and her enemies.

            Non alio Cathari modo

            Dom sponsam Domini piis

            Orbam ritibus expetunt,

            Atque ad barbariem partum

            Vellent Omnia regredi,

            Illam tegminis insciam

            Prorsus Daemoni et hostibus

            Exponunt superabilem.

Herbert uses clothing to represent liturgical rites, which are the concrete channels of God’s grace.  By doing away with such outward signs, the Puritans are aspiring to an Angelic state of understanding and failing to take into account our human limitations.  In denying our physicality, the Puritans have actually eliminated the means of achieving spiritual understanding.

The clothes don’t make the man, but . . .

John the Baptist, dressed for Prophecy

     I don’t believe that Herbert’s choice of symbol was lightly made.  He was fully committed to a very catholic version of Anglicanism. The fact is that clothing has important, often unconscious, symbolic meanings for people in every time and place (consider all the various uniforms, traditional attires, kinds of ritual or formal wear, etc. throughout the world), but especially for Catholic Christians because of our sacramental view of the universe.  Think back also through scripture to how often clothing is mentioned prominently: not just those first primitive garments worn by Adam and Eve that were the outward sign of their fall from grace, but Joseph’s coat that became a focus of his brothers’ jealousy, the special garments God commands the Aaronic priests to wear (which King David puts on to dance in front of the Arc of the Covenant), Jesus’ seamless garment for which his executioners cast dice, John the Baptist’s clothing of camel’s hair and skins.

     Speaking of John the Baptist, he is an interesting case. One reader of my recent post on Mass attire [here] asserted that God must not care how we dress, citing John the Baptist’s less-than-formal clothing in the desert as proof. It may not seem so at first glance, but John the Baptist is in fact not a refutation, but a very good illustration of the deep significance of dress. He was very aware of his appearance.  Like the Old Testament prophets, he carefully chose his dress and actions in order to represent spiritual truths in the physical realm (this is also at least part of the reason for the habits worn by religious orders, which another commenter mentioned).  By dressing like the Prophet Elijah (see 2 Kings 1:8) John asserts his prophetic authority, and the austerity of his apparel is a rebuke to the extravagance of the Temple priests and the legalism of the Pharisees.  If only we were all as conscious of our dress as John the Baptist was of his!

You mean it’s not all about what I want?

     For me, that earlier discussion of how we dress for Mass should be situated in the larger context of the sacramental view of the universe.  Catholics and Orthodox Christians are particularly aware of the deeper meaning of clothing, even when we resist it. Our tradition helps us to understand that how we dress for Mass is not important for its own sake (except, as I point out in the original post, in cases such as when one person’s provocative dress, for instance, is a temptation to others to violate the sixth commandment in their hearts) so much as for what it says about the importance we place on the Sacrament, and an expression of our love for Jesus Christ.  We used to know a family in which the father drove a delivery truck for a living; he was required to wear a company uniform on the job, and his work schedule was such that he could not attend Mass with his family unless he came straight from the job without changing, so he attended Sunday Mass in his worn blue coveralls.  I am sure that very few of us would find fault with his attire; in fact, we would see his determination to be present as the spiritual head of his family as an exemplary thing.  It’s a very different matter when we show up for Mass dressed for a barbeque or the beach simply because we didn’t bother to put on something more formal (and perhaps a little less comfortable), which sends the message that attending Mass is nothing special.

     How does all of this fit together?  I think we all have a tendency to get stuck in our own heads, as Mozart accuses the Protestants of doing, and Herbert likewise accuses the Puritans.  We don’t open ourselves up to God’s Grace as he wants to confer it, but try to put everything in neat categories of our own devising.  One purpose of many spiritual disciplines, including fasting and other mortifications, and of liturgical prayer such as the Liturgy of the Hours, has been to take our focus off our own will and desires, and instead orient ourselves to God’s will (see Romans 12:2).  If we find ourselves saying “God will understand  . . . “, well, of course, God understands everything.  The question is what, and how, do we understand?

(An earlier version of this post was published on June 16th, 2014)

     

Mozart: Alleluja (Julia Lezhneva, Helsinki Baroque Orchestra)

The Lord is truly Risen, Alleluia, Alleluia!

We avoided the joyful cry of "alleluia" throughout the Season of Lent, but now Christ is Risen!  This Alleluia, from Mozart's motet "Exultate, Jubilate", is an especially beautiful expression of the wonder of the Resurrection.

Mozart's Requiem Mass in D Minor I - Introitus and Kyrie

Last week, in keeping with the penitential orientation of Lent, we heard a little bit of Mozart's Requiem Mass.  This week we're going back to the opening of the Mass, to the Introitus and the Kyrie.  

Mozart's Requiem: Confutatis and Lacrimosa

Detail from Michelangelo's Last Judgment:
"pie Jesu Domine,dona eis requiem"

     While it's not strictly speaking a Lenten composition, Mozart's Requiem Mass, which he was still completing at the time of his death, lends itself to the penitential nature of the liturgical season.  This excerpt ("Confutatis" and "Lacrimosa"), part of the setting for Thomas of Celano's great hymn "Dies Irae", looks ahead to the Final Judgment.  Here, Mozart's music powerfully complements the words of the hymn: we can almost feel what it's like to be unworthy sinners approaching the Throne of God to throw ourselves upon his Mercy (which, indeed, we are).






Confutatis maledictis,
flammis acribus addictis,
voca me cum benedictis.
Oro supplex et acclinis,
cor contritum quasi cinis,
gere curam mei finis.

     When the wicked are confounded,
     and consigned to bitter flames,
     call me among the blessed.
     I pray humble and downcast,
     my heart worn down like ash,
     take up the care of my end.

Lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla
judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus,
pie Jesu Domine,
dona eis requiem. Amen.

     That day,full of tears,
     when from the ashes shall arise,
     Man, the accused to be judged.
     Have mercy on him, therefore, O God,
     faithful Lord Jesus,
     grant them eternal rest. Amen

Giuseppe Sarti - 'Now the Powers of Heaven' & Russian Icon Painters

"The Holy Trinity" by Russian painter Andrei Rublev

   Those of us in the West who have heard of the Italian composer Giuseppe Sarti  most likely know about him through the tribute paid by another composer: in Mozart's  Don Giovanni Don Juan listens to an air from  Sarti's opera Fra i due litiganti il terzo gode as the old rake enjoys his final dinner before being dragged off to Hell.
     Many of our Orthodox brethren know Sarti more directly: in 1785, the year before his music was show-cased in Mozart's opera, Sarti took up residence in Russia at the invitation of the Empress Catherine the Great.  There he composed not only operas, but also some magnificent sacred music for use in the Russian Orthodox Church.  The video below combines one of his best known sacred works, the breath-taking "Now The Powers of Heaven", with beautiful images of Russian icons:

De Profundis (C.W.Gluck)

    Christoph Willibald Gluck was one of the most influential composers of his time in the mid 18th century; he had an enormous impact on Salieri (whose Requiem Mass we've been sampling for the last couple weeks), Mozart, and many others. Perhaps no composer of his time had a greater influence on the development of the operatic genre. While his music is performed somewhat more often today than that of his protege Salieri, he is no longer one of the better-known composers.
     While Gluck's primary area was opera, he also composed musical settings for a few Psalms, few of which have survived. One that has come down to us is this hauntingly beautiful setting for Psalm 130 (linked below), a performance of which Salieri conducted at his old friend and mentor's funeral in 1788.
   

Salieri: Requiem in C minor - Sanctus & Benedictus

     While we're on the topic of neglected composers, how about poor Antonio Salieri?  Had he not been cruelly libeled by Peter Shaffer in the play & film Amadeus,  it is quite possible that his music would not be performed at all (incidentally, Shaffer did no favors to the memory of Mozart either, who was the purported protagonist of his story).  The truth is that although Mozart had some suspicions about Salieri when he first arrived in Vienna, the two eventually developed a friendly and respectful professional relationship.  Salieri, in fact, responded very favorably to Mozart's opera The Magic Flute, and in his final letter Mozart mentions taking Salieri to a musical performance in his own carriage.  Needless to say, Salieri did not murder Mozart (nor anyone else that we know of).
     The lovely piece below is the "Sanctus & Benedictus" from Salieri's Requiem Mass, one of his four Masses.  It is, I think, a good example of why he was considered one of the finest composers of his day.
   
   

Antonio Salieri

Ave Verum Corpus (Mozart) - King's College, Cambridge

There has been a long dispute between the partisans of J.S. Bach and Mozart as to who is the greatest composer of all time.  There is also a strong pro-Beethoven contingent, and I would gladly award him the bronze medal without a second thought, but as far as I'm concerned, Bach and Mozart are the most giant of musical giants.

There is an element of the apples/oranges dilemma here, because their musical geniuses and personalities were so different. My personal preference is for Wolfgang the boy-genius from Salzburg, partly for musical reasons, partly for purely subjective reasons, and partly (my apologies to my Protestant friends out there) because he was Catholic (even if a sometimes erratic one). That's not to say that Bach didn't compose some magnificent Sacred Music: he wrote some of the best, which I have posted on more than one occasion.  As a Lutheran, however, I don't see how he could have matched Mozart's stunning tribute to the Real Presence in the Eucharist, Ave Verum Corpus:

Renee Fleming sings "Laudamus Te" by Mozart

Yes, yes, I know about the dress - but as far as I'm concerned that's the only sour note in Rene Fleming's joyous and exuberant performance of the "Laudamus Te" from Mozart's Mass in C.

Mozart - Credo (Coronation Mass in C Major)

Another gem from Mozart's Coronation Mass: The Credo.

Mozart: Gloria from his Coronation Mass in C Major

More magnificent sacred music by W.A. Mozart, giving Glory to God.

Agnus Dei from Mozart's Coronation Mass; St. John Paul II, Herbert von Karajan and Kathleen Battle

Yesterday we discussed Mozart's assertion that Protestant Christians did not understand the Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi [here].  Whether he was right about that or not, Mozart himself did indeed understand, as is clear from the magnificent Agnus Dei from his Coronation Mass. This is from St. Peter's Basilica in 1985: Saint John Paul II is saying Mass, Herbert von Karajan is conducting the Vienna Philharmonic and Kathleen Battle is the Soprano.

Mozart's Great Mass in C Minor- Kyrie

Mozart's personal imperfections are well known (sometimes greatly exaggerated: see Peter Shaffer's Amadeus).  At the same time, only a man who truly loved his Lord could compose this magnificent Kyrie.  From his Great Mass in C Minor.

Kiri Te Kanawa "Exultate, jubilate" Mozart KV165

Exultate, Jubilate!  Exult, Rejoice!  The Lord risen!  The incomparable Kiri Te Kanawa sings Mozart's magnificent song of joy.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart - Requiem [Confutatis/Lacrimosa]

Confutatis maledictis,
flammis acribus addictis,
voca me cum benedictus.
Oro supplex et acclinis,
cor contritum quasi cinis,
gere curam mei finis.

     When the accused are confounded,
     and doomed to flames of woe,
     call me among the blessed.
     I kneel with submissive heart,
     my contrition is like ashes,
     help me in my final condition.

Lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla
judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus,
pie Jesu Domine,
dona eis requiem. Amen.

     That day of tears and mourning,
     when from the ashes shall arise,
     all humanity to be judged.
     Spare us by your mercy, Lord,
     gentle Lord Jesus,
     grant them eternal rest. Amen




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