The rich, the poor, the monarch and the slave
Rest undisturb'd and no distinction have
Within the silent chambers of the grave.

Lord, here I lie,
Lost to all hope of Liberty,
Hence never to remove,
But by a miracle of love.

I long to see this excellence
Which at such distance strikes my sense;
My impatient soul struggles to disengage
Her wings from the confinement of her cage.
Would'st thou, great Love, this prisoner once set free:
How she would hasten to be linked to thee.

"Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my crying come unto thee."

"Jesus Christus, unser Heiland" by Franz Tunder, who we heard from earlier this week. 

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Give them eternal rest, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine on them.

As we thought of Zion,
There we wept from the depths of our hearts.

We hung up, with heavy emotions,
Our organs and good harps
On the trees of their pastures,
That are within their lands;
There we must endure much shame and humiliation
At their hands daily.

As we thought of Zion,
There we wept from the depths of our hearts.

"Spare, O Lord, spare thy people, and give not thine inheritance to perdition."

 Samuel Wesley's "Si Iniquitates," performed by a group I've had the great pleasure of hearing live for years, Portland's Cantores in Ecclesia.

For some reason, I was drawn to a strictly instrumental selection today, "Bach's Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ."

Give them eternal rest, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine on them.

I find Gesualdo's music strange and jagged (and occasionally, unsettling), much like Ash Wednesday itself. I did not go with Palestrina's, because it's much less strange. It is, however, mournful and beautiful, and well worth a listen.

I who sin every day
and am not penitent
the fear of death troubles me:
For in hell there is no redemption.
Have mercy upon me, O God, and save me.