When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for

E. W. Howe, the American novelist and essayist known for his sharp wisdom and plain truth, once declared: “When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for something they never had, and never will have.” In these haunting words lies a paradox that touches the very soul of mankind. For music, at its highest, does not merely remind us of what we know, but awakens within us a longing for what we have never touched. It stirs memories that are not ours, dreams that are unreachable, and yearnings that transcend the boundaries of this world.

To be made homesick by good music is to feel that one belongs to a place beyond the visible. A simple melody may open within us a door to the infinite—a glimpse of a peace we have not known, or a love purer than any we have tasted. This is why a violin’s lament, a choir’s hymn, or a lone flute at dusk can bring tears to the eyes. It is not that we recall a particular moment of our past, but that the sound awakens in us the memory of what might have been, or of what should be, but is forever out of reach. Music makes the heart ache for paradise lost—or paradise never found.

History gives us echoes of this mystery. When enslaved people in America sang their spirituals, their voices carried both their present suffering and a longing for freedom many of them would never see. The songs spoke of a promised land, of rivers of peace, of eternal rest. These were not places their feet had walked, yet they sang as though their souls had known them. This is Howe’s vision: that good music awakens a homesickness for the eternal, for a dwelling-place the body may never enter, but the heart remembers.

Consider also Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, that thunderous hymn to joy. When it was first performed, many wept, not only because of its beauty, but because it seemed to reveal a joy too vast for mortal life. It gave them a glimpse of unity, of exaltation, of something higher than nations, higher than self. Yet when the final chord faded, reality returned, and they were left longing—longing for a world that the symphony had painted but could not deliver. They were homesick for something they never had, and never would have.

The ancients too recognized this yearning. Plato spoke of beauty as a reminder of the eternal forms, saying that when we encounter the truly beautiful, we ache for something beyond this world. The Hebrew psalmists sang of their souls thirsting for a land they had not yet reached, a holy dwelling beyond the wilderness. Howe’s words are but a modern echo of this ancient truth: that music, at its highest, awakens in us the ache of the eternal, the whisper of another homeland.

The meaning of Howe’s saying is therefore deeply emotional and spiritual. It reminds us that good music is not merely pleasure for the ear; it is a revelation, a window into the infinite. It does not only soothe, it unsettles. It does not only comfort, it awakens longing. It reveals to us that within the human heart is a hunger for what cannot be satisfied on earth—a hunger for the eternal, the perfect, the divine.

For us who hear this wisdom today, the lesson is profound. Do not dismiss the ache you feel when music moves you beyond words. That ache is not weakness—it is proof that your soul is alive, and that it was made for something greater. Practical steps follow: when you hear such music, do not rush away from the feeling. Sit with it, let it teach you, let it remind you that life is not only about what you can see or possess. Let that longing shape your actions, guiding you toward greater compassion, deeper beauty, and higher purpose.

Thus Howe’s words endure: “When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for something they never had, and never will have.” Let them remind you that in every melody lies a whisper of eternity, a glimpse of the home your soul was made for but cannot yet enter. And though you may never touch it fully in this life, the longing itself is a gift—a compass pointing you ever upward, toward the infinite harmony for which you were born.