I heard the bells on Christmas day.
Their old familiar carols play.
And mild and sweet their songs repeat.
Of peace on Earth, good will to men.
And the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they're singing (peace on Earth)
In my heart I hear them (peace on Earth)
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.
But the bells are ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir singing (peace on Earth)
Does anybody hear them? (Peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
Then rang the bells more loud and deep.
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.
(Peace on Earth)
(Peace on Earth)
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail.
With peace on Earth, good will to men.
Then 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.
And the bells, they're ringing (peace on Earth)
Like a choir they're singing (peace on Earth)
And with our hearts, we'll hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
Do you hear the bells, they're ringing? (Peace on Earth)
The light, the angels singing (peace on Earth)
Open up your heart and hear them (peace on Earth)
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
Peace on Earth.
Peace on Earth.
Peace on Earth, good will to men.
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I have been listening to this song on repeat the past couple of weeks. One of my absolute faves. Merry Christmas!!
https://www.newenglandhistoricalsociety.com/heard-the-bells-christmas-day-hope-surfaces-despair/
On Christmas day in 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was inspired to write the poem we now know as the Christmas carol, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. It was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.
Longfellow had fallen into a depression in 1861 when his second wife Frances died. She had been sealing envelopes with hot wax when a flame caught her clothes on fire. Henry had rushed to her aid and tried to smother the flames. But by the time the fire was out, Frances had been burned beyond recovery.
She died the next day. Henry, burned badly as well, was too sick to attend her funeral.
The death marked a turning point in Longfellow’s life. His physical appearance changed dramatically as he began growing his beard because the burns disfigured his face. Mentally, he sank into depression.
Winning Frances’ affection had taken Longfellow years, and their 18-year marriage was the happiest time of his life. In the wake of her death, he spent much of his time translating other works and less on his own creation.
CHRISTMAS 1862 On Christmas day in 1862 he would record in his journal: “A merry Christmas’ say the children, but that is no more for me.” And even 18 years later he would still be mourning Frances’ loss, when he wrote The Cross of Snow
In 1863, Longfellow suffered another blow. The poet was a staunch abolitionist, but he, like the entire country, was troubled by the Civil War. His son Charley in March of 1863 had decided that, regardless of his father’s wishes, he would join the fight. He ran off to Washington to enlist in the 1st Massachusetts Artillery.
Charley’s commanding officer soon discovered the boy’s influential family ties, and promoted Charley to lieutenant. Charley believed his aunt had probably helped procure the commission for him.
Longfellow feared for his son’s future. In June, Charley came down with fever. Longfellow went to Washington and brought him back to spend summer on leave at the family cottage in Nahant, Mass.
Though committed to the fight, the romance of war was stripped away for Charley in the coming months of battles. In one letter home, he described seeing a fellow soldier lose his leg and other close calls:
“They may talk about the gaiety of a soldiers life but it strikes me as pretty earnest work when shells are ripping and tearing your men to pieces.”
In November, Charley’s own luck ran out. At New Hope, Va., his unit was engaged in a battle and he was shot. The bullet went through him from back to shoulder, just nicking his spine.
Again Longfellow had to travel to Washington to retrieve his son from the hospital. They arrived back at their Cambridge home on December 8, and a grim Longfellow set about the months-long process of trying to nurse his son back to health.
I HEARD THE BELLS ON CHRISTMAS DAY
The circumstances challenged his resolve, but he was inspired when he heard the bells. He found in them a message that peace would come again to the troubled nation. They inspired him to write the poem, Christmas Bells.
Love hearing the context! Thank you for sharing!