2013 Home for the Holidays Special edition of LINCOLN DAILY NEWS.com Page 55
wax when a breeze through
the window caused some
drops of the wax and an
ember to fall onto her light
dress, igniting it. She ran into
Henry’s study, and he tried
unsuccessfully to extinguish
the flames, badly burning his
face, arms and hands (his
face to the point that he was
badly scarred and unable
to shave after the tragedy,
leading to Longfellow’s fa-
mous beard). Fanny died the
next morning. Henry was too
severely burned to attend
her funeral.
On Christmas Day 1861,
Longfellow wrote in his jour-
nal, “How inexpressibly sad
are all holidays.”
1862 brought a deepening of
the Civil War. On Christmas
Day that year, Henry’s journal
entry stated, “‘A Merry Christ-
mas’ say the children, but
that is no more for me.”
In early December 1863,
Longfellow received word
that his oldest son, Charles,
who ran away in 1861 at age
17 to join the Union Army,
had been severely wound-
ed. In a skirmish in Virginia,
Charles had been shot in the
left shoulder. The bullet trave-
led across his back, nicked
his spinal column and exited
under his right shoulder. He
was evacuated to a hospital
in Washington, D.C., where
Henry and one of his other
sons went to retrieve him
and bring him back to Mas-
sachusetts to try to recover.
With Charles’ recovery un-
certain and with the Civil War
still hanging in the balance,
Longfellow had every reason
for continued despondence.
It was during that Christ-
mas season of uncertainty,
though, when a particular
sound of the season moved
him to write. The sound was
old and familiar. It hinted at
despair but ultimately held
hope.
Longfellow’s poem con-
tained seven stanzas, two
of which directly refer to the
country’s involvement in the
Civil War and its impact on
families, his family included.
Those two stanzas were
dropped when the poem
was set to music over a dec-
ade later, but here is his origi-
nal poem, “Christmas Bells”:
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 the 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 sound,
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!”
