All men are investors. Some men invest their bodies. They bend their back to the burden until the blood vessels stand out upon their temples like silken nets. They give the strength of their arms to the hammer and drill until the flinty cliff becomes broad highways beneath their feet. They toil until mountains become winding corridors leading to chests of silver; valleys bloom with harvests, and frail cocoons become silken robes. They toil, earning dividends of daily bread, a happy home, and the consciousness that the world is better for their toil. All men are investors. Æsthetic in temperament, some invest a love for the beautiful. They find rhythm in swaying tree branch, harmony in the moving of winds, music in chirp of crickets, symphonies in the carol of birds, poetry in gleaming lights upon the water, visions of glory in the morning and evening sky. They adorn our cities with temples, fill our homes with immortal songs, transform white marble into immortal shapes, and fill our galleries with visions of sunsets that never fade, trees whose leaves are never driven by the November winds, children who never grow up, and family circles unbroken by death. Dividends surpassing belief belong to these true and faithful lovers of the beautiful. All men are investors. Some men invest their gift for business. They concentrate their energies on the art of trade until gigantic ships cut the ocean waves, steel rails join nations and continents, wire threads bind home to home, keeping each ear within instant reach of loved one’s voice, refrigerator cars that bring the fruit of the tropics to the Christmas table, and means of transportation that finds a world-wide sale for the handiwork of the humblest toiler. All honor to such men! Nations do not coin currency for business. Business is the mint whose products fill the coffers of the nations. All men are investors. Some invest their heart’s affections upon things divine. Their ears are closed to evil and they know not concerning things that blight and blast, scorch and consume the soul. Their eyes are closed to the suggestive, therefore evil finds no lighted pathway to their imagination. Their hands are held firmly and will not touch that which contaminates. Their lives are like unto that of the Lord Jesus, and therefore they are the children of freedom. Their words drop like the dew, each crystal drop reflecting the heavens toward which they journey. Their smiles are like unto sunbeams upon harvest fields, making the grain sweeter of kernel and more golden of husk. Their voices melt with tenderness as ripe grapes drip wine. Their opinions are permeated with charity as ripe fruit is filled with fragrance. Their coming is like that of a messenger from a friendly king.