The winter in 1863 was especially cold and bitter in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
It was also the darkest of days for 56 year-old Henry. In the midst of the American Civil War, the nation wasn’t just split, but horribly torn in half. As Abraham Lincoln had predicted long before his presidential election in a famous speech at Springfield, Illinois in 1858 with the biblical reference, ” A house divided against itself cannot stand”.
Far from the battlefields Henry had nevertheless felt the sharp sting of the war, having just learned his 19 year-old son Charles had been shot and was severely wounded. Especially in nineteenth century such news was often just a brief prelude; equivalent to an announcement of imminent death.
Charles would survive. But death had already crippled Henry with grief. He was a two-time widower, having lost his first wife Mary after complications from a miscarriage. Two years earlier his second wife Frances tragically died when her dress caught fire. Try as he might, Henry could not save her. In his effort to do so the fire disfigured his face, which Henry concealed with what would later become his trademark beard.
But the bells, what about the bells?
Ah yes. Church bells as we know have long been a means to mark special occasions. Church was the focal point where people gathered for many reasons: Weddings, funerals, Sunday services, and meetings. And heavy, accompanying church bells were the best, single way to announce these happy or solemn occasions. The nineteenth-century bells that Henry heard, echoed across the miles that separated the farmhouses; cutting through frozen, barren valleys and wooded hills.
The imagery of those country church bells survives to this day, thanks to the original versions. Nothing could be a bigger celebration in “all Christendom” as Henry wrote, than letting those bells “Peal loud and deep” on the day marking the birth of Jesus. The very name of which this holy day derives, lest one should ever forget: Christ-Mass.
While fewer bells mark today’s occasions, their images are engraved in our holiday cards, with glitter and poetry and well wishes to loved ones. Smaller versions of bells end up on sleighs or with handles attached, rocked back and forth by festively-dressed street carolers. Even plastic, impotent bells are hung by city hall; amid garland from street lights that go mostly unnoticed.
As to poetry, that just happened to be what Henry did for a living, as well as being a translator, being adept at several languages. Words and literature were Henry’s love, his primary means of expression. Being the essence of communication, then and now, it is poetry (many times put to music) that is played or recited at our most revered ceremonies.
So Henry wrote one particular poem, amid his deepest heartaches; the loss of his wife, the uncertain fate of his wounded, teenage soldier-son, the state of the war between the states that seemed to have no end; all the things that weighed heavy upon his heart. The poem began as he heard the distant bells on Christmas day in 1864, using those very words to begin. He called it “Christmas Bells,” which when later put to music, became “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.”
Henry wrote many famous poems in his lifetime, the one most recognized today might be the one which chronicled a Revolutionary war event, “Paul Revere’s Ride.” But amid all the Christmas musical classics, when you hear “Bells” played, you might remember that it was Henry, compelled from his sorrow, but equally important with strong faith and hope for a better tomorrow, to write it on that cold New England day.
The weary, 56 year-old, father and poet was none other than Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Several artists have covered this beautiful poem/song over the years, including Bing Crosby, the Carpenters, Casting Crowns, even Elvis. A favorite, creative version can be enjoyed at:
His original, 1864 version:
May the spirit of the Christmas bells bring peace to you as well.
Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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!
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!’
Armand Lobato (armandlobato@comcast.net) of Broomfield has worked in the fresh produce business for more than 30 years. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is an online-only column and has not been edited.
