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1842–1914

INCURABLE.

Ambrose Bierce

From pride, joy, hate, greed, melancholy — From any kind of vice, or folly, Bias, propensity or passion That is in prevalence and fashion,

Save one, the sufferer or lover May, by the grace of God, recover: Alone that spiritual tetter, The zeal to make creation better,

Glows still immedicably warmer. Who knows of a reformed reformer?

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INCURABLE. · Ambrose Bierce · Poetry Cove