Her mother answered with tears,
"O, our dear child, God, by his grace, hath given me great comfort in thee, in thy religious temper, and thy great attention to reading the Scriptures, prayer, and pious discourse, edifying us as well as thyself. He, even He Himself, who gave thee to us, make up this loss, if it be His pleasure to take thee away."
"Dear mother, though I must leave you, and you me, God will never leave either of us. Is it not written, Can a woman forget her child? Yea, she may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands. Oh! most comfortable words, both for parents and child."
Fatigued with speaking, she fell into a deep slumber, and on awaking, asked what day it was. She was told it was Sabbath morning.
"Father, have you commended me to be remembered in the prayers of the Church?"
"Yes, my daughter."
"This comforts me. For I have learned to believe that the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous availeth much."
She had a peculiarly warm and grateful love for her teachers and pastor, and a veneration for all ministers of the Gospel. She delighted to listen to their conversation wherever she met them, and counted any attention from them as an honour. But now, she would not consent that they should approach her, lest they might take the fearful disease that was hurrying her to the tomb.
"I will not expose their valuable lives," she said. "I cast myself wholly upon the mercies of God. His word is my comforter."
Her knowledge of the Scriptures was uncommon. She had committed large portions of it to memory, which gave hallowed themes to her meditation, and naturally mingled with her discourse in these solemn, parting moments.