Hear my cry, O God the Reader; vouchsafe that this my book fall not
still-born into the world wilderness. Let there spring, Gentle One,
from out its leaves vigor of thought and thoughtful deed to reap the
harvest wonderful. Let the ears of a guilty people tingle with truth,
and seventy millions sigh for the righteousness which exalteth nations,
in this drear day when human brotherhood is mockery and a snare. Thus
in Thy good time may infinite reason turn the tangle straight, and
these crooked marks on a fragile leaf be not indeed