Thus, the grand fabric of a thousand years--
Rear'd with such art and wisdom--by a race
Of giant sires, in virtue all compact,
Self-sacrificing; having grand ideals
Of public strength, and peoples capable
Of great conceptions for the common good,
And of enduring liberties, kept strong
Through purity;--tumbles and falls apart,
Lacking cement in virtue; and assail'd
Within, without, by greed of avarice,
And vain ambition for supremacy.

So fell the old Republics--Gentile and Jew,
Roman and Greek--such evermore the record;
Mix'd glory and shame, still lapsing into greed,
From conquest and from triumph, into fall!
The glory that we see exchanged for guilt
Might yet be glory. There were pride enough,
And emulous ambition to achieve,--
Both generous powers, when coupled with endowment,
To do the work of States--and there were courage
And sense of public need, and public welfare,--
And duty--in a brave but scattered few,
Throughout the States--had these been credited
To combat 'gainst the popular appetites.
But these were scorn'd and set aside for naught,
As lacking favor with the popular lusts!
They found reward in exile or in death!
And he alone who could debase his spirit,
And file his mind down to the basest nature
Grew capp'd with rule!--

So, with the lapse
From virtue, the great nation forfeits all
The pride with the security--the liberty,
With that prime modesty which keeps the heart
Upright, in meek subjection, to the doubts
That wait upon Humanity, and teach
Humility, as best check and guaranty,
Against the wolfish greed of appetite!
Worst of all signs, assuring coming doom,
When peoples loathe to listen to the praise
Of their great men; and, jealous of just claims,
Eagerly set upon them to revile,
And banish from their councils! Worse than all
When the great man, succumbing to the mass,
Yields up his mind as a low instrument
To vulgar fingers, to be played upon:--
Yields to the vulgar lure, the cunning bribe
Of place or profit, and makes sale of States
To Party!

Thus and then are States subdued--
'Till one vast central tyranny upstarts,
With front of glittering brass, but legs of clay;
Insolent, reckless of account as right,--
While lust grows license, and tears off the robes
From justice; and makes right a thing of mock;
And puts a foolscap on the head of law,
And plucks the baton of authority
From his right hand, and breaks it o'er his head.

So rages still the irresponsible power,
Using the madden'd populace as hounds,
To hunt down freedom where she seeks retreat.
The ancient history becomes the new--
The ages move in circles, and the snake
Ends ever with his tail in his own mouth.
Thus still in all the past!--and man the same
In all the ages--a poor thing of passion,
Hot greed, and miserable vanity,
And all infirmities of lust and error,
Makes of himself the wretched instrument
To murder his own hope.

So empires fall,--
Past, present, and to come!--
There is no hope
For nations or peoples, once they lapse from virtue
And fail in modest sense of what they are--
Creatures of weakness, whose security
Lies in meek resting on the law of God,
And in that wise humility which pleads
Ever for his guardian watch and Government,
Though men may bear the open signs of rule.
Humility is safety! could men learn
The law, "ne sutor ultra crepidam,"
And the sagacious cobbler, at his last,
Content himself with paring leather down
To heel and instep, nicely fitting parts,
In proper adaptation, to the foot,
We might have safety.

Rightly to conceive
What's right, and limit the o'erreaching will
To this one measure only, is the whole
Of that grand rule, and wise necessity,
Which only gives us safety.

Where a State,
Or blended States, or peoples, pass the bounds
Set for their progress, they must topple and fall
Into that gulf of ruin which has swallowed
All ancient Empires, States, Republics; all
Perishing, in like manner, from the selfsame cause!
The terrible conjunction of the event,
Close with the provocation, stands apart,
A social beacon in all histories;
And yet we take no heed, but still rush on,
Under mixed sway of greed and vanity,
And like the silly boy with his card-castle,
Precipitate to ruin as we build.

The Voice of the South.