William Gilmore Simms

The Decay of a People

THIS the true sign of ruin to a race —  
 It undertakes no march, and day by day  
Drowses in camp, or, with the laggard’s pace,  
 Walks sentry o’er possessions that decay;  
 Destined, with sensible waste, to fleet away; —
For the first secret of continued power  
 Is the continued conquest; — all our sway  
Hath surety in the uses of the hour;  
If that we waste, in vain walled town and lofty tower!