The Christmas Bells Still Ring

 


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was in despair. The man who most considered America's best poet found his life adrift. His adoring wife had died a tragic death. His son had forged his signature on papers and ran off to join the Union Army near the start of the Civil War. 

And Henry sat around his dusty house smelling ether and existing in a daze. For three years, he did not pen a single poem. His pens and paper and books gathered dust instead. This powerful American voice fell silent.

Yet there was also a war raging in Henry's heart. How could all of these tragedies happen?  How can I endure? Is God dead, he asked?

Many are tempted to ask that same question.

Some because of challenges under their own roof. Perhaps illness, or a lost business, or even a child that has left home.

Still, others feel despair after watching the evening news or reading headlines in a newspaper. A sampling of headlines today could put your stomach in a knot. 

  • Biden Admin Stonewalling Oversight Efforts into Afghan Aid
  • 2.8 million Illegals Expected to Cross Southern Border Next Year
  • Five Bombshells From Elon Musk's Disclosure on Hunter Biden Laptop Suppression
  • Putin's Spy Chief Says He Discussed Ukraine With CIA Director
  • Congressional Budget Office Has Bleak Outlook for US Economy in 2023 and 2024
  • Satellite Images Reveal Russian Nuke Bombers Ready to Strike

It is enough to make you cry or lose sleep. Some might even be tempted to ask, as Longfellow did, is God dead? Does God not even care?

Longfellow eventually discovered the answer to that question after his son returned home from the Civil War wounded. The answer he found is the same answer for us. God is not dead and the Christmas bells still ring loud and clear as Longfellow so beautifully wrote in his poem, "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

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."

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