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The Afterthought
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
THE END
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