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!