Tuba mirum

The wondrous trumpet spreading its sound
Through the graves of the regions
Will gather all before the throne
Death and nature will be astounded
When all creation rises again
To answer the judgment
A written book will be brought forth
In which everything is contained
From which the world will be judged
Therefore when the judge takes his seat
Whatever is hidden will appear
Nothing will remain unpunished
What am I, a wretch, then to say?
Which advocate to ask for help?
When even the righteous may hardly be secure?