I am the basis of all wealth, the heritage of the wise, thrifty and prudent.
I am the poor man's joy and comfort, the rich man's prize, the right hand of capital, the silent partner of many thousands of successful men.
I am the solace of the widow, the comfort of old age, the cornerstone of security against misfortune and want. I am handed down to children through generations, as a thing of greatest worth.
I am the choicest fruit of toil. Credit respects me. Yet I am humble. I stand before every man bidding him know me for what I am and possess me.
I am growing in value through countless days. Though I seem dormant, my worth increases, never failing, never ceasing. Time is my aid and population heaps up my gain. Fire and the elements I defy for they cannot destroy me.
I am increasing in strength. The centuries find me younger. My possessors learn to believe in me; invariably they become envied. While all things wither and decay, I survive.
I am trustworthy. I am sound. The thriftless speak ill of me. The charlatans of finance attack me. Unfailingly I triumph and detractors are disproved.
I am producer of food, the basis for ships and factories; the foundation of banks. Minerals and oils come from me.
I am so common that thousands, unthinking and unknowingly
pass me by.