Poem - E. J. Dempsey

The Blood Vote

By E. J. Dempsey (not W.R. Winspear)

Why is your face so white, mother?

 Why do you choke for breath?

 O I have dreamt in the night, my son

 That I doomed a man to death

Why do you hide your hand, mother?

 And crouch above it in dread?

 It beareth a dreadful branch, my son

 With the dead man's blood 'tis red

I hear his widow cry in the night

 I hear his children weep

 And always within my sight, O God!

 The dead man's blood doth leap

They put the dagger into my grasp.

 It seemed but a pencil then

 I did not know it was a fiend a gasp

 For the priceless blood of men

They gave me the ballot paper.

 The grim death-warrant of doom,

 And I smugly sentenced the man to death

 In that dreadful little room.

I put it inside the Box of Blood

 Nor thought of the man I'd slain

 Till at midnight came like a whelming flood

 God's word and Brand of Cain

O little son! O my little son!

 Pray God for your Mother's soul

 That the scarlet stain may be white again

 In God's great Judgement Roll