This book never had any public dedication. It was the work of the best years of a life offered to God. What was not done for the first edition will not be done now; but let these few lines of the author’s son be an offering to the glory of God—to the memory of his father—to the self-devotion of his mother.
In one of the author’s poems is the following verse which is strangely appropriate at this place:—
Let us toil on—the work we leave behind us,
Though incomplete, God’s hand will yet embalm,
And use it some way; and the news will find us
In heaven above, and sweeten endless calm.
Wycliffe Vaughan.
Littlemore, near Oxford,
November, 1879.