John Henry Newman’s ‘Lead, Kindly Light’

John Henry Newman's poem, "Lead, Kindly Light" shows how light brings us to God. Zoteva/Shutterstock

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home,— Lead thou me on! Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene,—one step enough for me.

  I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou Shouldst lead me on: I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead thou me on! I loved the garish days, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

  So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still Will lead me on; O‘er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

Usually, we do not consider ourselves led by our light, but rather our light illuminates our chosen way. We delight in choosing our own way, and what source of light we find in the world serves to guide us along it. Not so in John Henry Newman’s poem “Lead, Kindly Light” in which the speaker yields the choice of path to the light.

Newman wrote the poem in 1833 as he found himself far from home, struggling with life-threatening illness on a becalmed ship in the midst of his travels.

Portrait of Newman by George Richmond, 1844. Public Domain

Based on the verses from Exodus 13:21–22, the poem is a prayer in which the speaker, in time of desolation, surrenders his will to God. The words of the poem have been used in numerous musical settings, and these hymns have played a role in historical events and literature alike. The passengers of the Titanic sang it shortly before the collision with the iceberg as well as on one of the lifeboats after the collision. Thomas Hardy integrates it into one of the final chapters of “Far From the Madding Crowd” as one of the characters begins to emerge from a time of darkness and desolation.

Newman is not asking to be led from the dark to perfect clarity and ease. On the contrary, the speaker is content to go “O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent” so long as the light guides him there. The poem is a prayer of perfect surrender and humility: The speaker asks only for one step at a time and is willing to shoulder what difficulty God wills that he bear. The prayer does not achieve mere resignation but rather finds a blessing in present circumstances, recognizing the work of grace in a dark time.

Far From Home

Just as the Israelites traveled through the desert after leaving Egypt, following the column of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night, so too the speaker undertakes his journey and entrusts the route to the light.

However, with what seems more consistent with trust than that of the Israelites, the speaker says he does not need to know the path ahead. With an act of humility, he acknowledges that the years behind were guided by pride. Though he never made this prayer before, he forfeits not only the choice of the path but also the sight of it: “I loved to choose and see my path; but now/ Lead Thou me on!”

The Israelites were led by a cloud during the day through the desert. ArtMari/Shutterstock

If the light leads us to a brighter place, the poem certainly doesn’t seem to do so. In the final lines of the poem, Newman chooses to end with the sorrow of the verb “lost” rather than “smile”: “And with the morn those angel faces smile/ Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.” However, this progression from joy to sorrow impresses upon us that the morning hasn’t arrived yet and won’t do so during this life.

Until we are reunited with those we have lost, we are sojourners on this earth and must wander the valley of shadow. Our consolation is in the word “awhile,” brightening an imperfect earthly life with the hopeful anticipation of our eventual perfect joy.

At Dawn There Is Rejoicing

Perhaps we are surprised to find the phrase “garish day” coming from one who professes himself a lover of the light. However, with perfect, glaring daylight, our minds are less present on the source of that light. Undoubtedly, we are not continually thinking of our childlike dependence and reliance on the light that sustains us.

I am reminded of scenes from “The Lord of the Rings” series, in which Frodo (like all of us on our spiritual journey) finds himself plunged in complete darkness and confronted with great evil. In his fear, he remembers his gift from Galadriel of a phial containing the light of a star. At the presentation of this gift in the “Fellowship of the Ring,” Galadriel tells him, “It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”

Later, as Frodo holds the phial aloft in a scene from “The Two Towers,” the narrator says, “Frodo gazed in wonder at this marvellous gift that he had so long carried, not guessing its full worth and potency.”

Galadriel meets with Frodo in a scene from "The Lord of the Rings." New Line Cinema

Similarly, in Newman’s poem the light seems all the stronger for the dark. We yield ourselves to it, and as it is all we have, it seems a magnet that irresistibly draws our gaze. Until turning to it in this time of need, we don’t always consciously realize the scope of its power.

Seeing the light scatter the darkness, we actively contemplate its radiance. In this way, when the object of that contemplation is God, the dark can serve as a blessing in pulling us away from the many clamoring distractions of the world towards the one thing that truly matters.

Would you like to see other kinds of arts and culture articles? Please email us your story ideas or feedback at [email protected]