Whose is the honor? Once again
The million-drifted shower is spent
Of votes that into power have whirled two men:—
One man, defeated; one, made President.
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Whose is the honor? His who wins
The people’s wreath of favor, cast
At venture?—Lo, his thraldom just begins!—
Or is it his who, losing, yet stands fast?
The first takes power, in mockery grave
Of freedom—made, by writ unsigned,
The people’s servant, whom a few enslave.
The other is master of an honest mind.
From venomed spite that stung and ceased,
From slander’s petty craft set free,
This man—the bonds of formal power released—
Moves higher, dowered with large integrity.
Though stabs of cynic hypocrites
And festering malice of false friends
Have won their noisome way, unmoved he fits
His patriot purpose still to lofty ends.
Whose is the honor? Freemen—yours,
Who found him faithful to the right,
Clean-handed, true, yet turned him from your doors
And bartered daybreak for corruption’s night?
Weak-shouldered nation, that endures
So painfully an upright sway,
Four little years, then yields to lies and lures,
And slips back into greed’s familiar way!
For now the light bank-note outweighs
The ballot of the unbought mind;
And all the air is filled with falsehood’s praise—
Shams, for sham victory artfully designed.
Is theirs the honor, then, who roared
Against our leader’s wise-laid plan,
Yet now have seized his plan, his flag, his sword,
And stolen all of him—except the man?
No! His the honor, for he keeps
His manhood firm, intact, unsoiled
By base deceit.—Not dead, the nation sleeps:
Pray Heaven it waken ere it be despoiled!