A Final Thought

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.

Hear my cry, O God the Reader. Grant that my book is not born lifeless into the world’s wilderness. Gentle One, let vigorous thought and thoughtful action spring from its pages to reap a wonderful harvest. Let truth ring in the ears of a guilty people. Let seventy million people long for the righteousness that lifts nations up. Let them long for it in this bleak day, when human brotherhood is a mockery and a trap. Then, in your own good time, may infinite reason straighten out the tangle. And may these crooked marks on a fragile page not truly be.