I am the basis of all wealth, the heritage of the wise, the 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 people.

 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 person 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. 

 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.

Anonymous