Christmas inspires a widower to hope again, to see the eternal importance of the celebration of Christ’s birth. And with this renewed feeling of joy, the courage to pick up his pen and give the world a gift that lasts for the ages.
The synopsis for a Hallmark holiday movie perhaps? No, this story is not set in a perfectly themed little town, nor does it include a Christmas pageant or a couple sharing their first kiss while standing in swirling snowflakes. This is real history and it’s much better than any Hallmark fiction.
It was July, 1861, barely three months after the Confederates fired on Ft. Sumter beginning what was to be the deadliest war of all other American wars combined. At that time however, the full scope of the war had not taken hold, and many believed, both Union and Confederate, it would be a short and minimally bloody affair. But that summer morning the turmoil between the Blue and Gray was of little concern to Henry, as his entire life was about to go horribly wrong.
Henry was hard at work writing when his study door burst open. His beloved wife, Frances, ran into the room screaming, her dress engulfed in flames. Henry wrestled her to the floor and attempted to extinguish the flames with his hands. That being unsuccessful he grabbed a throw rug and finally smothered the blaze. Frances was burned terribly and sadly succumbed to her wounds the following day, July 11, 1861. Henry, also severely burned, was too weak to attend the love of his life’s funeral. Frances’ death resulted from a freak accident. She simply wanted to preserve a lock of their seven-year-old daughter’s hair in hot wax. A breath of refreshing sea breeze through the window, a lit candle and a dress made of light material conspired to create an unimaginable tragedy.
Henry
Frances
Henry’s physical wounds slowly healed but he was unable to shave for months, which resulted in the beginnings of his trademark beard. His emotional wounds were less responsive to the tincture of time. Six months after Frances’ death, on Christmas 1861, Henry journaled,
“How inexpressibly sad are all holidays."
Near the first anniversary of the accident he wrote, "I can make no record of these days. Better leave them wrapped in silence. Perhaps someday God will give me peace."
The second Christmas after her death, 1862, his journal entry was “A Merry Christmas say the children, but that is no more for me."
The following year the emotional turmoil for Henry and his family continued. In November, Charles the eldest of his five children, and a lieutenant in the Army of the Potomac, was severely wounded. A bullet passed under his shoulder blade and took off one of the spinal processes. Prior to the holidays, Henry retrieved his son from an Army hospital and brought him home to convalesce. Charles did eventually recover, however his service to the Union was finished. Much to his displeasure he was given an Honorable Discharge due to being partially disabled. The third Christmas after Frances’ death, 1863, there was no entry in Henry’s journal.
Though his work continued in the years after Frances death, Christmas, it would seem held no merriment. However, in the latter part of 1864, Henry’s perspective was encouraged by two very important national developments. President Lincoln was re-elected, and the Union forces were on the edge of final victory. Atlanta had fallen in the east, and the Union’s victory at at Nashville in December was the final battle in the western theater.
On December 25th, 1864, Henry’s actions could be interpreted as a man who had found God’s peace, in particular as it pertained to Christmas. Taking pen in hand he wrote the heartfelt poem that, later with musical accompaniment, would become a beloved Christmas carol. The words spoke of his pain, and more importantly, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s hope in our heavenly Father.
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!
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."
There are many excellent renditions of this song, but I am partial to the version sung by Old Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QIFcALCIws
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Mark Alan Griffis MarkAlanGriffis.com