Christmas Music Archives - Spes in Domino

December 20, 2024December 23, 2024 iacobusm Advent and Christmas

Evermore and Evermore: “Of the Father’s Love Begotten.”

Evermore and Evermore . . .

“Evermore and evermore.” Has a familiar ring, doesn’t it? It’s an English rendering of saeculorum saeculis. The Roman poet Aurelius Prudentius wrote these words, a variation of the more common in saecula saeculorum, as the last line, the final declaration, of a hymn he composed c. 400 AD. We still sing these words, and indeed Prudentius’s hymn, today. The English title is “Of the Father’s Love Begotten.” It is almost certainly the oldest Christmas song we sing today, and possibly the first of that distinguished lineage.

Before you chastise me for rushing ahead to Christmas before the Advent Season is complete, let me assure you that “Of the Father’s Love Begotten” often joins the lists of hymns for the preparatory season in addition to being a Christmas song proper. And, to be fair, Prudentius didn’t compose it exclusively for the Christmas season. In a sense, he was writing for eternity. Evermore and evermore indeed!

Echoes of the Past

We should note that the music we associate with the song today, although ancient, has a separate history. The tune started as a plainchant in the 9th or 10th century. Over the succeeding centuries, it has undergone a number of musical embellishments (harmony, etc.) that were not part of the original tune. Eventually, somewhere between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries, the melody was joined to a Eucharistic hymn called Divinum Mysterium. The tune itself still caries that name today. It didn’t come together with Prudentius’s hymn until 1851. That’s pretty recent, as these things go.

Speaking of Prudentius’s hymn, it goes back further than the music. Much further. Aurelius Prudentius was born in Hispania (Roman Spain) in the middle of the 4th century. He became a successful man of the world: lawyer, provincial governor, and eventually an aide to the emperor himself in Rome. Then, around the year 392 AD, he gave it all up. Prudentius went back to Spain and withdrew from the world. He spent the rest his time in this world living an extremely austere life. The former man of the world devoted his time to writing Christian poetry and apologetic works.

**Faith vs. Paganism**, *from a 10th century manuscript of Prudentius’s* **Psychomachia** *(London, British Library, Cotton MS Cleopatra C VIII, f.7r)*

A True Roman, a Thorough Christian

Like his contemporary St. Augustine of Hippo, Prudentius was a true Roman, but also thoroughly Christian. Both men fully embodied the virtues of the ancient pagan civilization, but transformed that heritage into something completely at the service of Jesus Christ. St. Augustine, of course, became and remains one of the most important figures in the development of Christine Philosophy and Theology. While Prudentius no longer has such prominence, for a long time, certainly through the Middle Ages, he enjoyed a reputation as one the great Christian poets.

Prudentius’s most influential work through most of this time was his Psychomachia, or The War of the Soul. This poem is a mini-epic allegorically representing the battle between virtues and vices in the soul of every person. Prudentius models his style in this poem on Vergil’s in his great epic, the Aeneid. The Psychomachia as a whole is not much longer than one of the twelve books in Vergil’s work, but Prudentius does incorporate the dactylic hexameter meter that Vergil himself inherited from the Greek epics of Homer. Prudentius’s allegorical treatment of the virtues and vices was copied very extensively over the next millennium.

A Hymn for Every Hour

*Monks at Heiligenkreuz Abbey, Austria, praying the liturgy of the hours. Jorge Royan photograopher, via Wikimedia Commons*

Prudentius emulates other poets from Rome’s Golden Age in some of his other works. He employs a lyric style more reminiscent of Vergil’s good friend Horace, for instance, in the Liber Cathemerinon. The title means something along the lines of Book of Daily Prayers. It’s a collection of twelve hymns intended to be sung in the daily liturgical prayer of the Church. Like the Psychomachia, these songs have never completely gone out of use. The ninth hymn, “Hymnus Omnis Horae” in the manuscripts, is the source of “Of the Father’s Love Begotten.”

As is the case with the tune, the text has undergone some adaptation in order to become the song we know today. Hymnus Omnis Horae means “Hymn For Every Hour.” It is the only hymn in the Liber Cathemerinon that is not designated for a particular time of day or festival. Instead, Prudentius gives us the entire story of Jesus Christ in thirty-eight stanzas. He seems to intend the hymn as an answer to the Arian Heresy, which denied the full divinity and eternal existence of Christ. In his third stanza, for instance, he asserts the orthodox teaching on the Incarnation:

Now we sing His deeds and proven miracles,

The universe is witness, nor does the earth deny what it saw,

God brought forth for teaching mortals face-to-face.

Facta nos et iam probata pangimus miracula,

testis orbis est, nec ipsa terra, quod vidit, negat,

cominus Deum docendis proditum mortalibus.

The final words of the song are a ringing declaration of eternity: seculorum seculis! That is, “within ages of ages,” or as our current translation puts it, “evermore and evermore.”

The Christmas Song

*John Mason Neale (via Wikimedia Commons)*

The present-day Christmas song first came about in 1851 when John Mason Neale translated verses 4-9 of Prudentius’s poem, the portion dealing with the Incarnation and Nativity, into English. His music editor set Neale’s translation to the melody of Divum Mysterium. Ten years later another hymnist, Henry W. Baker, went back to Prudentius’s “Hymnus IX” and retrieved the thirty-sixth and thirty-seventh stanzas. He added these to Neale’s version, along with a Trinitarian doxology as a final stanza. You can find a Latin/English copy of the Neale/Baker version of “Corde Natus ex Parentis/Of the Father’s Love Begotten” at the bottom of this post.

You might also hear another version of the song. Roby Furley Davis published his own translation in 1906. Davis keeps the first eight stanzas of the Neale/Baker translation, and he also sets his words to the music of Divinum Mysterium. In place of Baker’s Trinitarian doxology, however, he closes with the original final stanza from Prudentius. Both versions take seculorum seculis (“evermore and evermore”), which which appear only as the final words of Prudentius’s hymn, and use them as a refrain after each stanza.

Evermore and Evermore: A Promise of Eternity

“Evermore and evermore” is a fitting refrain. It’s fitting, to begin with, because it expresses an important theme of the original, much larger, hymn: the eternal existence of Jesus Christ. It is also a reminder to Christian believers of Christ’s promise, the final words of Matthew’s Gospel: “I am with you always, to the close of the age.” (Matthew 28:20) In the Latin of the Vulgate Bible, by the way, that’s ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem saeculi. Notice that the refrain seculorum seculis echoes Jesus’ last word, which is itself a promise of eternity.

The repetition of “evermore” in this particular song also calls to mind the role of tradition in the life of the Church. The events of the Gospels and the experiences of our forebears in the faith are not just distant events that we remember in passing. We recreate the events of Salvation in the Liturgical Calendar. Even more significantly, the Life, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ are a present reality, not simply a memory, in the liturgy of the Mass. We are invited into the life of God, and as St. Peter reminds us God does not experience time as we do: “with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.” (2 Peter 3:8)

Sharing the Life

*Medieval scribe (detail from 1283 AD manuscript in the Library of San Lorenzo de Escorial, Spain)*

In a similar (if more mundane) way we can also share in the life of previous generations of Christians. Just look at all the different versions of “Of the Father’s Love Begotten ” available on the internet. Prudentius’s hymn is still a living part of our celebration of the faith, more than sixteen centuries after its first publication. And it’s just as fresh (albeit in modern English rather than late Roman Latin) as when the poet (or his scribe) first inked the words on parchment.

Of course, the song is not only about “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and for ever” (Hebrews 13:8). It is about Jesus who entered into time to save us:

He is found in human fashion,
Death and sorrow here to know,
That the race of Adam’s children
Doomed by law to endless woe,
May not henceforth die and perish
In the dreadful gulf below,
Evermore and evermore!

Corporis formam caduci,
membra morti obnoxia
Induit, ne gens periret
primoplasti ex germine,
Merserat quem lex profundo
noxialis tartaro.
Sæculorum sæculis.

Whoever Sings

In this stanza, in fact, we see the most incredible part of the reality of the incarnation. Why should the eternal, infinite God enter into time, into death, sorrow, and woe just to save wretches like us, as the old song puts it. This, perhaps, explains why Neale starts his hymn with the fourth stanza of the original. We begin with the statement that Christ is begotten in love before the world’s beginning. Love, Corde (literally “heart”) is in fact the very first word in the Latin text. Jesus Christ is then begotten in love again, in time, in Bethlehem, in a fragile little human body. The God Who is eternal, it turns out, is Eternal Love (see 1 John 4:8).

He who does not love does not know God; for God is love. (1 John 4:8)

Adoration of the Christ Child, by Lorenzo Lotto, 1523

There’s something about song that turns abstract concepts into concrete experiences. St. Augustine supposedly said, “Whoever sings prays twice.” As it happens, he may not have actually said it, but there’s still some truth in it nevertheless. Take the schlocky “Christmas” songs (most of which actually have little or nothing to do with Christmas itself) that blare through the PA systems of retail stores from Thanksgiving through December 24th. They’re the only place that we still experience musical styles that died out decades ago. More importantly, they bring back (mostly) happy memories (and feelings and smells . . . ) of Christmases we celebrated and of people we knew over our lifetimes.

. . . to be with Him Evermore and Evermore.

If even those hackneyed tunes have at least that much virtue in them, how much more so this truly joyful hymn, begotten of the heart of a man who left the allure of worldly success to give his life to Jesus. Sixty human generations or more have passed since Aurelius Prudentius first published hymn IX of his Liber Cathereminon. We still sing it today as the Christmas hymn “Of the Father’s Love Begotten.” Every time we sing it, we stand in the presence of the Alpha and Omega, who was there before time began, entered into time at the Nativity, and has invited us to stay with him after time is no more . . . to be with him evermore and evermore.

Featured Image top of page: Christ Pantocrator, by Viktor Mikhaylovich Vasnetsov, 1885-1896

Of the Father’s Love Begotten (English):

Below you can find this song two of the many performances of this song available online. The first is an English version by Diana Pierce provided by St. Peter’s Church, North Wales. The second is a beautiful Latin version, Corde Natus ex Parentis, from Corpus Christi Watershed.

Finally, under the video clips I’ve posted a downoadable PDF copy of the Neale/Baker version of “Of the Father’s Love Begotten,” and one of Prudentius’s original Hymnus Omnis Horae. Both are in Latin and English.

Corde Natus ex Parentis (Latin)

Texts:

Corde Natus ex Parentis/Of the Father’s Love Begotten (Latin & English)

Corde Natus ex Parentis – Latin & English Download

Hymnus Omnis Horae/Hymn for Every Hour (Latin & English)

Hymnus IX – Prudentius – Google Docs Download

January 5, 2023 iacobusm Christmas and Advent, Faith and Politics

Epiphany – Faith vs. Power

Faith vs. Power –6 January 2023

The Revealing of Christ

Commit your way to the LORD;

trust in him, and he will act. . .

. . . For the wicked shall be cut off;

but those who wait for the LORD shall possess the land.

Yet a little while, and the wicked will be no more;

though you look well at his place, he will not be there.

But the meek shall possess the land,

and delight themselves in abundant prosperity. (Psalm 37: 5;9-11)

A few years back the Catholic bishops in the United States determined that they could best impress the importance of this feast on their flock by allowing local bishops conferences to move it to the nearest Sunday, rather than keeping it in its ancient home on the sixth day of the year. Whatever we may think of that decision, it does give me another opportunity of discussing those mysterious visitors to newborn Jesus described in chapter 2 of Matthew’s Gospel, the Magi.

Notre Dame - Faith v. Power — *Detail from the medieval polychrome choir screen in Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral*, *Paris*

Faith Seeking Understanding

Let me begin with an observation from my post on last year’s liturgical celebration of Epiphany. I described the Blessed Mother as exemplifying St. Augustine’s famous description of theology: fides quaerens intellectum, “faith seeking understanding.” The Magi, too, are the very personification of fides quaerens intellectum. Their faith isn’t the Jewish faith, of course, and they’re decades too early to know the Christian faith . . . although they do come to Christ. Quite literally.

We are not sure exactly who they are where they come from. Matthew doesn’t tell us that they’re kings, or how many of them there are. He simply describes them as μάγοι ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν, magi (sometimes translated “wise men”) from the east (Matthew 2:1). The term magi suggests that they may have been Zoroastrian priests from Persia.

In any case, they come following a star, a sign from God. They put themselves into God’s hands, trusting in him to lead them to a “newborn King of the Jews.” When they are led to a seemingly ordinary baby boy with undistinguished parents, they still trust that he is nonetheless worthy of their kingly gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Their trust in God’s guidance, that is to say their faith, is rewarded one last time when they are warned in a dream to avoid the murderous King Herod on their way home.

Faith vs. Power

Pugh Wise Men - Faith v. Power — ***Wise Men Still Seek Him***, *Print by Jennifer Pugh*

It’s all to no effect. With all his worldly power he can’t stop the coming of the Messiah, or even save his own life: he is dead shortly after the birth of Jesus, and his already small realm is divided into four even smaller pieces among his heirs.

Wise Men Still Seek Him

St. Paul tells us that “the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, ‘He catches the wise in their craftiness . . . So let no one boast of men. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future, all are yours; and you are Christs; and Christ is Gods.” (1 Corinthians 3:19; 21-22).

That’s a star we all can follow.

*Featured image: Interview of the Magi and Herod the Great, by J. James Tissot late 19th century

Music for Epiphany

Some of you may disagree, but it seems that the quality of Christmas songs sharply declines beginning in the mid twentieth century. Happily, there are some exceptions. One of them is posted below: the 1963 Bing Crosby recording of “Do You Hear What I Hear?”

The song was composed by Noël Regney and Gloria Shayne in the midst of the fear and anxiety of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, and a version by the Harry Simeon Chorale was released that year. Bing Crosby’s recording the following Christmas made the song a favorite. It features the star from Matthew’s Gospel, and a king who is decidedly not King Herod:

Said the king to the people everywhere
Listen to what I say! (Listen to what I say!)
Pray for peace, people, everywhere
Listen to what I say! (Listen to what I say!)
The Child, the Child sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light
He will bring us goodness and light

Lyrics

Do you hear what I hear?

Said the night wind to the little lamb
Do you see what I see?
(Do you see what I see?)
Way up in the sky, little lamb
Do you see what I see?
(Do you see what I see?)
A star, a star, dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear?
(Do you hear what I hear?)
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear?
(Do you hear what I hear?)

A song, a song high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know? (Do you know what I know?)
In your palace warm, mighty king
Do you know what I know? (Do you know what I know?)

A Child, a Child shivers in the cold
Let us bring him silver and gold
Let us bring him silver and goldSaid the king to the people everywhere
Listen to what I say! (Listen to what I say!)
Pray for peace, people, everywhere
Listen to what I say! (Listen to what I say!)

December 25, 2022 iacobusm Christmas and Advent, The Liturgical Year

2nd Day of Christmas – St. Stephen and the Incarnation

St. Stephen, Protomartyr

St. Stephen is the first Christian to follow Christ all the way. His feast is the first day after Christmas, of course. But we also call him the protomartyr, the First Martyr. He was the first to follow Christ all the way, to his own Calvary.

We’ve observed that the wooden manger, a couple of planks laid across two trestles, foreshadows the wooden beams of the Cross. If that’s a little too subtle an indication of what the incarnation is about, there’s this. On the Second Day of Christmas, when the dishes from Christmas dinner have hardly had time to dry and be put away, we celebrate the Feast of St. Stephen. He is the protomartyr, the first Christian to die for the Faith after the death of Christ himself. Could there possibly be a more jarring reminder that our Joy is not care-free? That Grace is not cheap? Or that the Nativity leads directly to the Crucifixion?

Full of the Spirit and of Wisdom

St. Stephen himself was one of the original deacons, who were chosen in the following way:

And the twelve summoned the body of the disciples and said, “It is not right that we should give up preaching the word of God to serve tables. Therefore, brethren, pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom, whom we may appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” (Acts 6:2-4)

Lord, Do Not Hold This Sin Against Them

Despite being appointed “to serve tables”, Stephen, like his fellow Deacon Philip, was in fact also called upon to preach the word of God (Acts 7). This is what leads to his death. Here is St. Luke’s description of St. Stephen’s witness:

But he [Stephen], full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God; and he said, “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing at the right hand of God.” But they cried out with a loud voice and stopped their ears and rushed together upon him. Then they cast him out of the city and stoned him; and the witnesses laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul. And as they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And he knelt down and cried with a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” And when he had said this, he fell asleep.

And Saul was consenting to his death. (Acts 7:55-8:1)

The Power of Christ

St. Stephen’s story is a reminder that we all have different roles to play. All of us, however, are called upon to witness to the Gospel (μάρτυς, the Greek word from which we get the word martyr, means “witness”).

The very origin of that word shows us that the simple fact of being a witness to Christ provokes opposition. Sometimes strong, sometimes violent, opposition. But note the young man Saul (the future St. Paul, Apostle and Martyr), who looks on in approval. He may even be a leader or instigator of St. Stephen’s stoning. It’s possible that the example of the protomartyr helped to prepare him for his eventual conversion. Who knows, maybe the ferocity of his persecution of Christians between Stephen’s death and his own encounter with the risen Christ was borne of a desperate resistance to the gentle promptings that were stirring in his heart. In any case, we see that we should not be discouraged even by the strongest opposition. The power of Christ is stronger still. We need to do our part, and trust Him to do the rest.

Joy, Sorrow, and Glory

And so if we take the long view, commemorating the death of the First Martyr at this time is not at all strange. The Liturgical Calendar reminds us, on the Second Day of Christmas, that we need to embrace the Gospel in its entirety. The joy of the Nativity leads to the sorrow of Cavalry, which itself prepares the way for the still greater glory of Easter. As St. Peter puts it:

There is cause for rejoicing here. You may for a time have to suffer the distress of many trials; but this is so that your faith, which is more precious than the passing splendor of fire-tried gold, may by its genuineness lead to praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ appears. (1 Peter. 1:6-7)

Featured image top of page: The Stoning of St. Stephen by Rembrandt Van Rijn, 1625

St. Stephen, First Martyr: Today’s Mass Readings

Music for Christmas

Cantar Community Choir sing “Good King Wenceslas” on the steps of Castle Howard, 20th December 2015.

To learn more about the connection between St. Stephen and Good King Wencelas, see “St. Stephen, Good King Wenceslas & The Power of Christ’s Love“.

January 5, 2022 iacobusm Christmas and Advent, Faith and Politics

Epiphany: Faith v. Power

Commit your way to the LORD;

trust in him, and he will act. . .

. . . For the wicked shall be cut off;

but those who wait for the LORD shall possess the land.

Yet a little while, and the wicked will be no more;

though you look well at his place, he will not be there.

But the meek shall possess the land,

and delight themselves in abundant prosperity. (Psalm 37: 5;9-11)

In the earliest days of the Church Epiphany was one of the most important observances, perhaps second only to the great Feast of the Resurrection at Easter. Even before Christmas existed as a Christian holy day, believers gathered on January 6th to celebrate the Epiphany, i.e., the “revealing” of Jesus as the Son of God in some combination of the Incarnation and the Nativity, the visit of the Magi, and the Baptism of Jesus. A few years back the Catholic bishops in the United States determined that they could best impress the importance of this feast on their flock by moving it to the nearest Sunday, rather than keeping it in its ancient home on the sixth day of the year. Whatever we may think of that decision, it does give me another opportunity of discussing those mysterious visitors to newborn Jesus described in chapter 2 of Matthew’s Gospel, the Magi.

*Detail from the medieval polychrome choir screen in Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral*, *Paris*

Let me begin with an observation from my post on this year’s liturgical celebration of Epiphany this past Sunday. I described the Blessed Mother as exemplifying St. Augustine’s famous description of theology: fides quaerens intellectum, “faith seeking wisdom.” The Magi, too, are the very personification of fides quaerens intellectum. Their faith isn’t the Jewish faith, of course, and they’re decades too early to know the Christian faith . . . although they do come to Christ. We are not sure exactly who they are where they come from. Matthew doesn’t tell us that they’re kings, or how many of them there are. He simply describes them as μάγοι ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν, magi (sometimes translated “wise men”) from the east (Matthew 2:1). The term magi suggests that they may have been Zoroastrian priests from Persia. In any case, they come following a star, a sign from God. They put themselves into God’s hands, trusting in him to lead them to a “newborn King of the Jews.” When they are led to a seemingly ordinary baby boy with undistinguished parents, they still trust that he is nonetheless worthy of their kingly gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Their trust in God’s guidance, that is to say their faith, is rewarded one last time when they are warned in a dream to avoid the murderous King Herod on their way home.

Ah yes, let’s not forget Herod. Where the Magi embody trust in God, Herod is the man of action who puts his trust in his own worldly power. His lack of faith blinds him. He’s unaware of the Messiah being born in his own backyard. He lives in mortal fear of losing his power (which is not, in fact his own power at all: he is a puppet kinglet under the control of the Emperor across the sea in Rome, who can remove him at his pleasure). In his fear and rage, he lashes out with deadly violence against the innocent baby boys of Bethlehem. It’s all to no effect. With all his worldly power he can’t stop the coming of the Messiah, or even save his own life: he is dead shortly after the birth of Jesus, and his already small realm is divided into four even smaller pieces among his heirs.

Wise Men Still Seek Him, *Print by Jennifer Pugh*

We can learn a lot from the faith of the Magi. There is a popular meme that has made its way onto countless Christmas cards: a picture of the Magi with the inscription “Wise Men Still Seek Him.” How often do we, who have the full revelation of Jesus Christ and his Gospel, instead seek our own worldly agenda, following the example of miserable King Herod? St. Paul tells us that “the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, ‘He catches the wise in their craftiness . . . So let no one boast of men. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future, all are yours; and you are Christs; and Christ is Gods.” (1 Corinthians 3:19; 21-22).

That’s a star we all can follow.

Music for Epiphany

Some of you may disagree, but it seems that the quality of Christmas songs sharply declines beginning in the mid twentieth century. Happily, here are some exceptions. One of them is posted below: the 1963 Bing Crosby recording of “Do You Hear What I Hear?”

The song was composed by Noël Regney and Gloria Shayne in the midst of the fear and anxiety of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, and a version by the Harry Simeon Chorale was released that year. Bing Crosby’s recording the follwing Christmas made the song a favorite. It features the star from Matthew’s Gospel, and a king who is decidedly not King Herod:

Featured image: Interview of the Magi and Herod the Great, by J. James Tissot late 19th century

Lyrics

Do you hear what I hear?

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear?
(Do you hear what I hear?)
Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy
Do you hear what I hear?
(Do you hear what I hear?)

A song, a song high above the trees
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know? (Do you know what I know?)
In your palace warm, mighty king
Do you know what I know? (Do you know what I know?)

January 3, 2022 iacobusm Christmas and Advent

11th Day of Christmas: Christmas Bells – The Wrong Shall Fail, The Right Prevail

Merry Christmas! This is the Eleventh Day of Christmas, with still more Christmas to come.

Today I’d like to take a look at a particularly moving Christmas song. There’s a story behind the creation of every song, and sometimes knowing the story can make the song all the more meaningful. This is one of my favorites.

The story begins on Christmas Day, 1863, when the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem called “Christmas Bells”.

Wadsworth starts his poem with church bells ringing out the joy of Christmas:

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!

Henry, Charles, Ernest, and Frances Longfellow

The poet, however, was not filled with unmixed good cheer. His wife had recently died a tragic death in a house fire, and he had just received news that his son Charles, who had left without his knowledge or consent to fight in the bitter Civil War that was then embroiling the United States, had been wounded in battle. Longfellow, himself struggling with sorrow in the midst of our most festive season, juxtaposes the joyful ringing of bells in “The belfries of all Christendom” with the manifest lack of peace among 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!

These images of war and shattered homes seem to give the lie to the joyful promise of the Christmas Bells:

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!”

Christ came, of course, not simply to bring joy: he came to free us from the power of sin. Our Faith is grounded in Christian Hope, which is the confidence that the Power of God is greater than the power of hate, and stronger than hate’s master. Longfellow’s closing stanza resolves the conflict between Christmas joy and the sin and violence of this world with a ringing assertion of Christian Hope:

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.”

Longfellow, who had very powerful incentives to turn to despair, instead created a poem that shows us that the joy of Christmas is not a denial of the brokenness of this world, but God’s answer to it.

      Longfellow’s poem has been put to music numerous times over the past century and a half (usually under the title, “I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day”). I’ve long been familiar with Johnny Cash’s rendition of the song; more recently, I heard a similar arrangement of lyrics set to a very different tune by the Christian group Casting Crowns.
    And there are different arrangements of Longfellow’s original poem. Curiously, none of the musical adaptations that I have found have included Longfellow’s 4th and 5th stanzas, with their references to thundering cannon and forlorn households.  The Johnny Cash version also moves stanza 3 (“Till ringing, singing . . .”) behind Longfellow’s concluding stanza (“God is not dead . . .”), and then repeats the “God is not dead” stanza.  The effect is to de-emphasize the concrete reasons for the speaker’s cry of despair, and give greater emphasis to the redemptive conclusion.  It seems to me that the change robs the song of some of it’s  narrative coherence (why should the speaker “bow his head in despair” after hearing “peace on earth, good will to men”?). Not only that, by replacing those tangible examples of suffering with the abstraction “hate”,  they deprive the poem of much of its dramatic power.  I suppose the song-makers thought those images too heavy for a Christmas song, but in fact they are a stark reminder of why the coming of the Messiah is “Good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10).
    For all that, the sense of Longfellow’s poem still comes through in the song: the joyful celebration of Christmas seems to be mocked by the all-too-evident evil in the world (and is there any one of us who is not, right now, directly aware of some reason for anger or sorrow?).  The conclusion reminds us that the Child lying in the wooden manger will one day hang upon a wooden cross, precisely so that he might carry us through those evils to the feet of His Father. When we learn about the real suffering that the author of those words was experiencing as he wrote them, we can experience the song, not as sentimentality or empty platitude, but as a true triumph of Christian Hope. Let the bells peal loud and deep!

Featured image above from: http://archivalmoments.ca/tag/church-bells/

Music for Christmas

The video below features the Dittmer family performing the Johnny Cash version of “I heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” This shorter rendition leaves out the “Ringing, singing” stanza and omits Cash’s repetition of the “God is not dead” stanza.