Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FAR HORIZON, by FREDERIC ROWLAND MARVIN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FAR HORIZON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Swing low, thou silver moon!
Last Line: The future beckons, and we go!
Subject(s): Immortality; Life


I

SWING low, thou silver moon!
The rhyme and rune
Of frost and snow,
Of seas that flow,
And winds that blow,
Of weed and flower
That sun and shower,
Rejoicing, bring
To every spring,
Keep time and tune.
A gentle mirth
Fills all the earth;
O'er vale and height
The quiet light
Of heaven descends:
Swing low, thou silver moon—
Flood all the restful noon
Of this sweet summer night,
With calm and holy light!
Swing low! swing low!
Swing low, thou silver moon!
On nature's breast
My heart, at rest,
The music hears
Of singing years,
And laughing flowers;
I watch the hours
Unfold their wings;
To meet the skies,
The mists arise
Through all the day,
In circles gray,
O'er purple hills;
The night comes down
Upon the town;
And o'er the sea,
The mystery
Of created things
A deeper darkness flings:
Swing low, thou silver moon!
Swing low! swing low!

II

Swing low, thou silver moon!
Another sound is in the air,
A cry of anguish and despair.
Dark shadows fall, and everywhere
The lonely graves on sea and land
Rest not, but evermore demand
To know the justice of man's fate:
"Rules love, or only deathless hate?"
War lifts her crimsoned sword on high,
And at her feet the nations lie.
Plague, famine, and disaster smite,
And, in their wild and cruel might,
Make sport of human hope and fear.
The fruitless fields are brown and sere.
The canker and the worm divide
The glory of all earthly pride.
The soul on dust and ashes fed,
Wonders if God and love are dead.
Did Heaven create the sword and flame?
And plant th' accursed rose of shame
In hearts that struggle with desire,—
That would be pure, yet in the mire
Of lust, sink deeper day by day?
Hears Christ the countless hosts that pray
In all His temples far and near,
With sigh and penitential tear—
That pray, and for an answer wait,
While none returns, though oft and late
Their cry goes up to Heaven in vain?
What shall be said of fearful pain?
The house of slaughter red with gore?
The how! of anguish, the wild roar
Of creatures desperate before
The cruel vivisector's knife?
What of the men who serve for life,
In dungeon's far removed from hope?
What of the hangman's gyves and rope?
What shall be said of starving hosts
That rot alive, where England boasts
Her gentle rule and Gospel light?
What of the golden parasite
Of Godless wealth, the selfish gain
That feeds upon the heart and brain?
With lonely graves the earth is strewn;
The dead are dead; the living groan
In anguish that no tongue can tell;
And dark as fate, the fear of hell
Looms black with doom, to mock the grace
That shone upon the holy face
Of One a Roman cross held high,
'Twixt trembling earth and shud'ring sky—
His love we owned; His word believed;
Is God not good? Are we deceived?
Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon!
The earth and sky are out of tune.

III

Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon!
Hope beckons with inviting hand;
Not all man's trouble can withstand
Her gentle smile of heavenly peace;
For every soul she hath surcease
Of anguish and despair at last.
We are not what we were of old,
And when the story has been told
Of all the ages, who shall say
The flame that burned in our dull clay
Was made to smoulder and expire?
New wisdom shall our race acquire.
On every altar holier fire,
A nobler faith shall kindle there.
Beyond the anguish and distress,
The fears that all our hearts oppress,
Beyond the wrong we may not right,
I see the dawning of the light.
The living Christ shall yet return;
The eastern star again shall burn;
Eternal love shall win the day.
Swing low, swing low, thou silver moon!
To all our race, the richest boon
Is not what we have been or are,
But what awaits us from afar.
Swing low! swing low!
The future beckons, and we go!





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