O Holy Night

[Verse 1]
O Holy night! The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
‘Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn
Fall on your knees; O hear the Angel voices!
O night divine, O night when Christ was born
O night, O Holy night, O night, O night divine!

[Verse 2]
Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming
Here come the Wise Men from Orient land
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger
In all our trials born to be our friend
He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger
Behold your King; before Him lowly bend
Behold your King; before Him lowly bend.

[Verse 3]
Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His Gospel is Peace
Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother
And in His name, all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we
Let all within us Praise His Holy name
Christ is the Lord; O praise His name forever!
His power and glory evermore proclaim
His power and glory evermore proclaim.

O Holy Night
Words by Placide Cappeau, 1847; music by Adolphe Adam, 1847; English translation by John Sullivan Dwight, 1855

You probably know this one by heart, and many of us have sung it every December for as long as we can remember. What’s surprising is how unlikely it was that we’d ever get to sing it at all. It began with a French wine merchant who wrote poetry on the side. It was set to music by a man who wrote ballets for a living. And at least one bishop wanted nothing to do with it.

The wine merchant was Placide Cappeau, of the little town of Roquemaure in the south of France. As a boy of eight he lost his right hand in an accident, when a friend was playing with a gun. That turned him away from the family barrel-making trade and toward books and poetry instead. In 1847 the parish church had its organ newly repaired, and the priest asked Cappeau for a Christmas poem to mark the occasion. Cappeau wrote it on a long coach ride to Paris, and once he had it, he decided it deserved music. He brought it to his friend Adolphe Adam, a composer best known for the ballet Giselle. That Christmas it was sung at midnight Mass in Roquemaure, and from there it spread all over France.

Not everyone was pleased. One French bishop complained that the carol had no musical taste and no religious spirit at all, and a number of churches quietly set it aside. The ordinary people of France went right on singing it at home. Then, in 1855, it crossed the Atlantic with John Sullivan Dwight. He was a former Unitarian minister and one-time member of the Brook Farm community outside Boston, and by then one of America’s leading music critics. Dwight translated it freely, but he held on to one of Cappeau’s boldest ideas. The French third verse says Christ sees a brother where there was once only a slave. Dwight made it ring even louder: “for the slave is our brother.” He printed it six years before the Civil War, at a time when those were not gentle words.

It’s a remarkable journey for a poem written to celebrate a church organ. It was scolded by a bishop and carried into English as a song about freedom. Today it is sung by millions of people who would never guess it caused any trouble at all.