Day of Wrath, O Day of Mourning

I know our liturgical emphasis at funerals is now on the resurrection and rejoicing in new life, but there's a part of me that's a little nostalgic for the days of the "Black Requiem" ---the black cope and pall on the casket, lots of incense, somber music. As a young boy, I served at alot of these symbolically rich ceremonies.
I started out reading and then later on chanting the great latin sequence "DIES IRAE":



On Hearing the Dies Iræ Sung in the Sistine Chapel (Author: Oscar Wilde)

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,
Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,
Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love
Than terrors of red flame and thundering.
The empurpled vines dear memories of Thee bring:
A bird at evening flying to its nest,
Tells me of One who had no place of rest:
I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.

Come rather on some autumn afternoon,
When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,
And the fields echo to the gleaner's song,
Come when the splendid fulness of the moon
Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,
And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.




Requiescat

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,

All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

Oscar Wilde