Presides o'er his happiness, honour, and health,
Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth.
In the heap of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir.
It begins every hope, every birth it must bound,
It prays with the hermit; with monarchs is crowned;
Without it the soldier and seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch that expels it from home.
In the whispers of conscience 'tis sure to be heard,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned;