This is our present to you this holiday season from the Preaching Poetry Podcast!

In this episode, longtime listener Sean joins us to help host a special Christmas edition of the Preaching Poetry Podcast! Check out our present to you this year with "Christmas Bells."

In this episode, we ring the news on Longfellow's most famous Christmas poem, which would also be set to music as the popular Christmas carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

We discuss Longfellow's personal tragedies and how they fit into the greater historical context of the poem. We explore the role of bells in pre-industrial society. We also go on a motivational and inspirational journey through the lyrics of the poem and Sean asks us to consider our role as bells, spreading "peace on earth, goodwill to men.'


“Christmas Bells" by 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."

In this edition of the Preaching Poetry Podcast, we delve into life and death and resurrection with Dylan Thomas.

We get personal here, sharing stories of grief and loss. We find comfort and hope in Thomas' vision of the coming defeat of death. Drawing inspiration from the Bible (Romans 6:9 to be specific), Thomas paints a beautiful picture of loss and loneliness and defies the shadows with the refrain "and death shall have no dominion."

We get personal, talking about what we believe about death and life after. Thomas encourages us to come to clarity about our own convictions. 

Can you agree with him? Is death final? Does love conquer all? Do you believe in the resurrection of the dead?

Also, has anyone rated or reviewed this podcast yet?

We get into all this and more here at the Preaching Poetry Podcast!


“And death shall have no dominion” by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

In part 2 of our episode on Ulysses, we get into the meat of the poem. We explained the context of the story from Part 1, and now we get to dive into the epilogue of the life of Ulysses.

We explore his wanderlust and lament with him that Ithaca doesn't hold the charm that it used to. All Ulysses could think about during his travels was being able to return home/ Now that he is home, he cannot stop thinking about his adventures and travels and feel as though he is languishing in backward Ithaca.

We explore his relationship with his son, Telemachus, a man he admires and trusts, but doesn't relate to. He seems ready to leave his son in his place as king. He gazes out at his ship in the harbor and resolves to set out into the wild seas again. Ulysses is determined to sail to or wash up upon the blessed isles, one way or another.

We take the chance to admire Ulysses, a man who "cannot rest from travel" and who yearns to "follow knowledge like a sinking star." He is a heroic figure, but he is also tragic. From another point of view, we can see the downside to such a self-absorbed pursuit. Ultimately, we think we would rather have Telemachus as a king and leader and example than Ulysses.

What do you think?

In this epic edition of Preaching Poetry Podcast, we embark upon a voyage through Alfred Lord Tennyson's famous poem, Ulysses. This week, we spend most of our time discussing the backstory and history of the character of Ulysses, known as Odysseus to his Greek fans. We march through Homer's great epics, the Illiad, and the Odyssey so that you can better understand what Tennyson reintroduces us the fabled Greek hero as an old man, longing for adventure again.

Join us as we talk about all this and more, such as why you should keep it in your pants, avoid feuding Olympians, and why you should probably just avoid ever getting on a boat with anyone named Odysseus.


“Ulysses" by Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

         This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

         There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find,

In this classic episode of the Preaching Poetry Podcast, we delve into the richness of Edmund Vance Cooke's poem, "How Did You Die?"

Cooke is well known and regarded as a children's poet, but he has a lot to teach us. Sometimes the most important lessons we need to learn are learned when children, and it is never too late to learn how to live with purpose and intention.

In this poem, we explore how to take responsibility for ourselves and how to become resilient in the face of adversity. We also discuss how to death with death and loss, not as a defeat, but as the inevitable consequence of living. Instead of focusing on what we cannot control or overcome, we ask ourselves what it would look like if we lived in such a way as to "play our part in the world of men" and have our intentionality recognized by observing our lives. 

Join us as we seek inspiration and as we aim to grow into the kind of people who tackle our troubles with resolute hearts, who come up from being beaten to the earth with smiles on our faces, and who battle the best we can.

“How Did You Die?" by Edmund Vance Cooke

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight --  and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

In this nautical edition of the PPP, we proclaim the history and poetry of the USS Constitution. We sail through the storied past of one of the United States of America's first naval innovations and how early American naval strategy was designed to play out.

We look at the service history of the ship and the gallant actions of her captains and crew. We then go on to delve the depths of public opinion and the role Holmes' poem played in galvanizing the people to demand that they ship be spared the scrapyard.

This episode was more history lesson than sermon, but even still, we discuss what it means to admire and remember out past. We discuss the art of inspiration and look at a way to spur others on to a worthy cause. We ask ourselves if history is worth preserving and what we gain from it. Is it mere sentiment, or is it a mythology that helps us become who we desire to be.


“Old Ironsides" by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Aye tear her tattered ensign down
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;—
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;—
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
Should sink beneath the wave;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave;
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale!

In this edition of the Preaching Poetry Podcast, we examine one of the greatest American poets ever, at least in our opinion.

We'll discuss who Paul Laurence Dunbar is, some of his more famous poems, and then we explore the melancholy of his poem "The Debt." Dunbar explores regret in a compelling and hauntingly beautiful way. He becomes slightly vulnerable in the poem, revealing a pain of regret while hiding the specifics. We explore the way that Dunbar compares regret to interest on a loan, one that can never be finally remitted, even though each day demands payment of its own. 

We also explore the implications of this cautionary tale as we make our own decisions and strive to grow as people capable of making good decisions and counting the costs of what we set out to do in life.


“The Debt" by Paul Laurence Dunbar

This is the debt I pay
Just for one riotous day,
Years of regret and grief,
Sorrow without relief.

Pay it I will to the end —
Until the grave, my friend,
Gives me a true release —
Gives me the clasp of peace.

Slight was the thing I bought,
Small was the debt I thought,
Poor was the loan at best —
God! but the interest!

In part 2 of our episode on Kipling's beloved poem, If, we continue to examine the concepts of toxic masculinity, humility, self-confidence, resilience, and friendship. We examine Kipling's good ideas and a few of his more questionable ones. Ultimately, we explore what it means to define ourselves without the trapping of success or failure. We also look at the meaning of the last line in the poem and examine what it means to be a man, and what it means to inherit the earth and all that is in it. We also talk about how to read authors who have written in the past, holding different views that we have today. 

This poem is art. It is worth attacking, defending, critiquing, and enjoying. If nothing else, it is certainly worth talking about.


“If" by Rudyard Kipling

“If you can keep your head when all about you   
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;   
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;   
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;   
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;   
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,   
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,   
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son