Dies Irae, Dies Illa: The Hymn of the Chvrch, in Meditation of the Day of Ivdgment
Hear'st thou, my soul, what serious thingsBoth the Psalm and sybyll singsOf a sure Iudge, from Whose sharp rayThe World in flames shall fly away.
O that fire! before whose faceHeaun and Earth shall find no place.O those eyes! Whose angry lightMust be the day of that dread night.
O that trump! whose blast shall runAn euen round with the circling sun,And vrge the murmuring graues to bringPale mankind forth to meet his King.
Horror of Nature, Hell, and Death!When a deep groan from beneathShall cry, We come, we come, and allThe caues of Night answer one call.
O that Book! whose leaues so brightWill sett the World in seuere light.O that Iudge! Whose hand, Whose eyeNone can indure; yet none can fly.
Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say?And to what patron chuse to pray?When starres themselues shall stagger; andThe most firm foot no more then stand.
But Thou giu'st leaue (dread Lord!) that weTake shelter from Thy self, in Thee;And with the wings of Thine Own doueFly to Thy scepter of soft loue.
Dear, remember in that DayWho was the cause Thou cam'st this way.Thy sheep was stray'd; and Thou wouldst beEuen lost Thyself in seeking me.
Shall all that labour, all that costOf loue, and eu'n that losse, be lost?And this lou'd soul, iudg'd worth no lesseThen all that way, and wearyness.
Iust mercy then, Thy reckning beWith 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 Iudge), mercy I cryWith blushing cheek and bleeding ey:The conscious colors of my sinAre red without and pale within.
O let Thine Own soft bowells payThy self; and so discharge that day.If Sin can sigh, Loue can forgiue:O say the word, my soul shall liue.
Those mercyes which Thy Mary found,Or who Thy crosse confes't and crown'd;Hope tells my heart, the same loues beStill aliue, and still for me.
Though both my prayres and teares combine,Both worthlesse are; for they are mine.But Thou Thy bounteous Self still be;And show Thou art, by sauing me.
O when Thy last frown shall proclaimThe 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 diuideThose limbs of death, from Thy left side;Let those life-speaking lipps commandThat I inheritt Thy right hand.
O hear a suppliant heart, all crush'tAnd crumbled into contrite dust.My hope, my fear! my Iudge, my Freind!Take charge of me, and of my end.
Words in this poem
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- angry a.
- Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
- losse n.
- Praise. See Loos.
- crosse n.
- The implement with which the ball is thrown and caught in the game of lacrosse.
- bounteous a.
- Liberal in charity; disposed to give freely; generously liberal; munificent; beneficent; free in bestowing gifts; as, bounteous production. [OE. bountevous, fr. bounte bounty.]
- suppliant a.
- Asking earnestly and submissively; entreating; beseeching; supplicating. [F., p.pr. of supplier to entreat, L. supplicare. See Supplicate, and cf. Supplicant.]
- contrite a.
- Thoroughly bruised or broken. [L. contritus bruised, p. p. of contrere to grind, bruise; con- + terere to rub, grind: cf. F. contrit See Trite.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Dies Irae, Dies Illa: The Hymn of the Chvrch, in Meditation of the Day of Ivdgment is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw, Volume I, Project Gutenberg ebook #38549; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Richard Crashaw, Dies Irae, Dies Illa: The Hymn of the Chvrch, in Meditation of the Day of Ivdgment, in Steps to the Temple and Other Poems (1646–1652), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #38549, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/crashaw-poems/dies-irae-dies-illa-the-hymn-of-the-chvrch-in-meditation-of-.html, id L12084.
Form and metre
Dies Irae, Dies Illa: The Hymn of the Chvrch, in Meditation of the Day of Ivdgment is 68 lines in 17 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is AABB, complete in 14 of its 17 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 84%). 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.8 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 40% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 AABB thingsA · singsA · rayB · awayB
- 2 AABB faceA · placeA · lightB · nightB
- 3 AABB runA · sunA · bringB · kingB
- 4 --AA death · beneath · allA · callA
- 5 AABB brightA · lightA · eyeB · flyB
- 6 AABB sayA · prayA · andB · standB
- 7 AABB weA · theeA · doueB · loueB
- 8 AABB dayA · wayA · beB · meB
- 9 AABB costA · lostA · lesseB · wearynessB
- 10 AABB beA · meA · painB · vainB
- 11 --AA cry · ey · sinA · withinA
- 12 AABB payA · dayA · forgiueB · liueB
- 13 AABB foundA · crown'dA · beB · meB
- 14 AABB combineA · mineA · beB · meB
- 15 AABB proclaimA · flameA · beB · meB
- 16 AABB diuideA · sideA · commandB · handB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Hear'st thou, my soul, what serious things | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| Both the Psalm and sybyll sings | 7 | ······· |
| Of a sure Iudge, from Whose sharp ray | 8 | ········ |
| The World in flames shall fly away. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| O that fire! before whose face | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Heaun and Earth shall find no place. | 7 | ······· |
| O those eyes! Whose angry light | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Must be the day of that dread night. | 8 | ········ |
| O that trump! whose blast shall run | 7 | ······· |
| An euen round with the circling sun, | 9 | ·····/˘˘· |
| And vrge the murmuring graues to bring | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| Pale mankind forth to meet his King. | 8 | ·//····· |
| Horror of Nature, Hell, and Death! | 8 | /˘·/˘··· |
| When a deep groan from beneath | 7 | ······· |
| Shall cry, We come, we come, and all | 8 | ········ |
| The caues of Night answer one call. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| O that Book! whose leaues so bright | 7 | ······· |
| Will sett the World in seuere light. | 7 | ······· |
| O that Iudge! Whose hand, Whose eye | 7 | ······· |
| None can indure; yet none can fly. | 8 | ········ |
| Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? | 8 | ········ |
| And to what patron chuse to pray? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When starres themselues shall stagger; and | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| The most firm foot no more then stand. | 8 | ········ |
| But Thou giu'st leaue (dread Lord!) that we | 8 | ········ |
| Take shelter from Thy self, in Thee; | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And with the wings of Thine Own doue | 8 | ········ |
| Fly to Thy scepter of soft loue. | 8 | ········ |
| Dear, remember in that Day | 7 | ·˘/˘··· |
| Who was the cause Thou cam'st this way. | 8 | ········ |
| Thy sheep was stray'd; and Thou wouldst be | 8 | ········ |
| Euen lost Thyself in seeking me. | 8 | ··˘/·/˘· |
| Shall all that labour, all that cost | 8 | ···/···· |
| Of loue, and eu'n that losse, be lost? | 8 | ········ |
| And this lou'd soul, iudg'd worth no lesse | 8 | ········ |
| Then all that way, and wearyness. | 8 | ········ |
| Iust mercy then, Thy reckning be | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| With my Price, and not with me; | 7 | ······· |
| 'Twas pay'd at first with too much pain, | 8 | ········ |
| To be pay'd twice; or once, in vain. | 8 | ········ |
| Mercy (my Iudge), mercy I cry | 8 | /˘··/˘·· |
| With blushing cheek and bleeding ey: | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| The conscious colors of my sin | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| Are red without and pale within. | 8 | ········ |
| O let Thine Own soft bowells pay | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Thy self; and so discharge that day. | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| If Sin can sigh, Loue can forgiue: | 7 | ······· |
| O say the word, my soul shall liue. | 8 | ········ |
| Those mercyes which Thy Mary found, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Or who Thy crosse confes't and crown'd; | 8 | ········ |
| Hope tells my heart, the same loues be | 8 | ········ |
| Still aliue, and still for me. | 6 | ······ |
| Though both my prayres and teares combine, | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Both worthlesse are; for they are mine. | 8 | ········ |
| But Thou Thy bounteous Self still be; | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| And show Thou art, by sauing me. | 7 | ······· |
| O when Thy last frown shall proclaim | 8 | ······˘/ |
| The flocks of goates to folds of flame, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| And all Thy lost sheep found shall be; | 8 | ········ |
| Let 'Come ye blessed,' then call me. | 7 | ······· |
| When the dread 'Ite' shall diuide | 6 | ······ |
| Those limbs of death, from Thy left side; | 8 | ········ |
| Let those life-speaking lipps command | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| That I inheritt Thy right hand. | 8 | ··˘/˘··· |
| O hear a suppliant heart, all crush't | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| And crumbled into contrite dust. | 9 | ·/˘˘··˘/· |
| My hope, my fear! my Iudge, my Freind! | 8 | ········ |
| Take charge of me, and of my end. | 8 | ········ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.