Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Ballot

So you are through with it,
Through with the strain of the fight,
And the ballot is won--
Now what will you do with it?
How will you prove you were right
In the things said and done?

Oh, in the use of it,
Now must you speak to the race
What the race needs to hear.
Let no abuse of it
(Seeking for honours and place)
Give the world cause to sneer.

You have talked loud and long,
Voicing a Cause that was right
And a claim that was just.
Let no least cloud of wrong
Rise now to shadow your light--
Oh, be true to your trust!

Out of the strain of strife,
Out of earth's brief troubled span,
And of all that we do,
This makes the gain of life--
Just to fit into God's plan,
And to always ring true.

Nothing is permanent:
Honours or glory or pelf
Are but dewdrops at dawn.
But in God's firmament
Souls that have conquered all self
Will for ever shine on. 

1. At Eleusis
2. Worldly Wisdom
3. The Chosen
4. Affirm
5. At Forty-Eight

John Pierpont The Ballot ("A weapon that comes down as still")

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