While we wait

Let me not to the counting of true ballots
Admit impediments. Votes are not votes
That alter when they alteration find,
Or bend with the remover to remove.
O no! They are an ever-fixed mark
That wait on counting, patient and unshaken.
They are a star for every governing bark,
Their precious worth shall not be taken
By those impatient fools who lightly seek
To bend time’s sickle to some baser goal
Than truth. The truth is not so weak,
But bears its witness, to the edge of doom,
Wary of error, careful and unmov’d,
Until the people’s will at last be prov’d.