Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground

Blind Willie Johnson was born in Texas in 1897. As a boy he wasn’t blind, but his life changed forever when, in a moment of violence, lye was thrown in his eyes. From then on, the world was darkness, but his hands and voice lit up every place he played.

He built himself a guitar from a cigar box and played on street corners. The sound was raw, fierce, and holy. One story tells of him singing If I Had My Way I’d Tear the Building Down outside a courthouse in New Orleans, stirring the crowd so much it almost became a riot.

Between 1927 and 1930, he recorded just five sessions. That’s all. But within those grooves lived something eternal. Among them was Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground. There are no words in it—only the aching hums of Johnson’s voice and the sliding cry of his guitar. It feels like a prayer, like a wound, like the sound of the human soul when it has no words left.

In 1945, after his house burned to the ground, Johnson lived in the ruins. He caught pneumonia and was denied hospital care. He died with little in this world, but he left behind a sound that could never be silenced.

Decades later, when NASA sent the Voyager spacecraft to carry humanity’s story into the stars, they chose his song. Now Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground drifts across interstellar space, a ghostly hymn carrying the sorrow, hope, and faith of us all.