At Notre Dame, belief in the sanctity of life, a Sacred, a genuine heartfelt belief by many, would seem by the very nature of the modern age to has been corrupted, co-mingled, marshaled to champion politics, the Profane.
More so than the death of innocents through abortion is the death of Civility in the American Town Square, once real and now virtual. It would seem that there is a culture of death of sorts on both sides of this matter.
Dies Irae as a hymn is part of the ancient pre-Vatican II Mass for the dead.
On these matters that I would prefer not to touch with a ten foot pole, I turn to art, music, poetry...
I choose this very modern poetic translation of Dies Irae from the very dead language of Latin.
The day of wrath, that day(http://www.globalserve.net/~bumblebee/diesirae.html )
which will reduce the world to ashes,
as foretold by David and the Sybil.
What terror there will be,
when the Lord will come
to judge all rigorously!
The trumpet, scattering a wondrous sound
among the graves of all the lands,
will assemble all before the Throne.
Death and Nature will be astounded
when they see a creature rise again
to answer to the Judge.
The book will be brought forth
in which all deeds are noted,
for which humanity will answer.
When the judge will be seated,
all that is hidden will appear,
and nothing will go unpunished.
Alas, what will I then say?
To what advocate shall I appeal,
when even the just tremble?
O king of redoutable majesty,
who freely saves the elect,
save me, o fount of piety!
Remember, merciful Jesus,
that I am the cause of your journey,
do not lose me on that day.
You wearied yourself in finding me.
You have redeemed me through the cross.
Let not such great efforts be in vain.
O judge of vengeance, justly
make a gift of your forgiveness
before the day of reckoning.
I lament like a guilty one.
My faults cause me to blush,
I beg you, spare me.
You who have absolved Mary,
and have heard the thief's prayer,
have also given me hope.
My prayers are not worthy,
but you, o Good One, please grant freely
that I do not burn in the eternal fire.
Give me a place among the sheep,
separate me from the goats
by placing me at your right.
Having destroyed the accursed,
condemned them to the fierce flames,
Count me among the blessed.
I prostrate myself, supplicating,
my heart in ashes, repentant;
take good care of my last moment!
That tearful day,
when from the ashes shall rise again
sinful man to be judged.
Therefore pardon him, o God.
Merciful Lord Jesus,
give them rest.