Now do I hear the bells of Christmas day
From the front of a half-empty sanctuary
Proclaiming peace on earth, good will,
And I know they toll for me.
I remember these bells from yesteryear,
Playing the old, familiar carol song,
But then I could not hear it–
Then they had wrung out false and fay.
I had no one there to unveil hope
When I needed it muted and matte.
Too bright, and I must turn my face;
I needed hope at peace with mourning.
And now that season is passed–
Though perhaps not gone forever–
I might display this hope for thee,
Having stood once where you stand.
I offer it not with jubilant shout,
Nor triumphant, joyful claims;
I give it here in small measure
That you might look on through despair.
This is a hope not cheap, nor easy,
But is best understood this time of year;
In the present-tense yet perpetual Advent,
We wait–though lonely, empty, forsaken–
Still singing, even in a mournful key–
O come: ransom, free, and cheer–
Of the promised future for the exiles
And of the One who shall come to thee.
While cannons thunder in the South–
Though we live in death’s dark shadow–
We await a victory o’er the grave
When world revolves from night to day.
All Great and Precious Things 