On a social media site that shall be nameless, another participant asked me what are my three favorite Christmas songs. I answered quickly, without over-thinking it, but while trying to show some range among the many different kinds of song, and eras of song-writing, in the genre. I answered: Snoopy's Christmas (1967) Have yourself a merry little Christmas (1944) I heard the bells on Christmas Day (1863/1956). "I heard the bells..." has two dates on this modest list because it began life as a poem by Longfellow. When Johnny Marks composed the tune most of us have heard, so that Bing Crosby could sing this poem to the world, Crosby cracked wise. "I see you've finally gotten yourself a decent lyricist, Johnny." Anyway: I have since been thinking too much about my list of three. In the lyrics of none of them does one find any reference either to Santa or to Jesus. My list avoid both commercialism and specifics of faith. Two out of my three choices invo...
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Two days ago I perpetrated a bad pun on the name Torquemada in the course of a brief comment on Schama's latest fat book of macro-history. Let my penance for the pun be a few lines by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. TORQUEMADA was the title of one of his poems, part of his TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. The title character is eager to persuade the old Hidalgo to give evidence that his daughters are heretics. He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, Then answered in a voice that made him quail: 'Son of the Church! when Abraham of old To sacrifice his only son was told, He did not pause to parley nor protest, But hastened to obey the Lord's behest, In him it was accounted righteousness The Holy Church expects of thee no less!' A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, And Mercy from that hour implored in vain...." Go to Longfellow to read the rest, if you dare. Or simply take the above as suitable Sunday fare.
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. 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.”