Affectionately dedicated to my precious Master, the Lord, who made possible this service, and to my dear husband, son, and daughter, who were noble sharers in the battles and triumphs described.
Oh agony of wavering thought
When sinners first so near are brought.
It is my Maker—dare I stay?
My Savior—dare I turn away?
In the ripe harvest fields the day is cried,
And reapers with their sickles bright