Behind the Music: "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day"

It's possible that all of you know the story behind the Christmas song, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," but considering the recent events that took place in Connecticut and the state of mourning in which this country finds itself, I thought it might be a good time to tell it again.

Anyone who took American Literature in high school (which, I believe, should be EVERYONE) should know that this song is based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of this country's best-known poets. In his day, he was America's most famous and most universally loved poet. He published poetry from 1839 to 1880. And anyone who knows anything about the Civil War knows it falls smack-dab in the middle of that timeline.

Source

The Civil War is the backdrop of this song. You don't see it in the lyrics because those lines of the poem were left out of the song.

Near the beginning of the war, in July of 1861, Longfellow's wife tried to melt some sealing wax, and her clothes caught on fire. Longfellow was in the home at the time and was able to extinguish the flames by throwing his arms around her, suffering his own burns in the process. However, she died the next day.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

So, for Longfellow, when Christmas rolled around, it became a time of mourning for his wife, though he tried to make it fun for the kids. In 1862, he wrote in his journal, “A ‘merry Christmas’ say the children, but that is no more for me.”
Then, in March of 1863, his 17-year-old son, Charles, ran away from home to join the Union Army. Apparently, when your dad is famous, it's not so easy to do that, though, and when he showed up at camp, the commanding officer called up Longfellow to get his permission, which he got.

In any case, I think you all know where this is going: On Nov. 27, 1963, Charley got shot. Luckily, he got shot in the shoulder, and even more luckily, he missed being paralyzed by less than an inch.

Charles was brought home Dec. 8, and so it was that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow found himself on Christmas morning in 1863 (presumably) missing his wife, mulling over the war and feeling so very thankful that his son was alive.

So he wrote this:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said:
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

 

It really is a beautiful poem about hope. And about God.

 

And I know that this has been a tough year for this country. There have been between four and seven mass shootings this year, depending on how you define "mass." There was a drought (the worst since the 1950s) that took out entire crops, leaving many farmers with 10 percent of their expected profits. There was an election, which, instead of bringing the country together, seems to always drive warring factions further apart. Trayvon Martin was shot, Hurricane Sandy hit, tornadoes left destruction in their paths, an ambassador and three others were killed. And let's not forget about the fiscal cliff looming over us.

 

To top it all off, Lance Armstrong was banned from professional cycling after an investigation confirmed the doping allegations were true. 

 

Way to kick us when we're down, Lance.

 

And that's just in the good ol' U.S.of A. We all know even worse things were happening in other areas of the world.

 

Some good stuff happened, too, but it didn't seem to outweight the bad this year.

 

"Here, have some Olympics, and some Adele music. Now be on your way."

 

I imagine 1863 was worse, though. I imagine being in the middle of a seemingly endless Civil War, in which all the casualties are Americans, and brothers are fighting brothers, would start to seem pretty bleak and hopeless. It would start to seem like God had forgotten about this country or that he wasn't even there at all.

 

But we all know the truth about that: God had not forgotten us then, and he hasn't forgotten us now. This is a country built on the backs of people who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and refused to quit in the face of horror. As a race, the only way we humans can survive is if we allow ourselves to hope. And by "allow ourselves," I mean "make ourselves" in some cases and "cling" in other cases.

 

For me, the only reason we have to hope is the fact that the horrors of this world are not all there is. There is beauty in this world, too, given to us by a savior whose birth we celebrate on Christmas. That same savior said, "I am with you always." He came to save the world, then he proved he had the power to do so. For me, that's a reason to celebrate. This Christmas, we have many reasons to mourn, and it's right to do so, but we also have an even bigger reason to hope. 

 

Merry Christmas, my friends. I hope you remember with me that despite the crappiness of this year, "God is not dead, nor doth he sleep!"