She felt a deep desire for the progress of true religion, whose worth she was now able more fully to appreciate than in the days of health. One morning, she was found bathed in tears, and when the cause was inquired, exclaimed,
"Have I not cause to weep? Our dear minister was taken ill in his pulpit this morning, and went home very sick. Is it not a sign of God's displeasure against our country, when such a faithful pastor is smitten?"
She had shed no tear for her own severe pains, but she bemoaned the sufferings of others, and the afflictions that threatened the Church. Of her own merits she entertained a most humble opinion, and would often repeat with deep feeling,
"The sacrifices of God are a contrite heart. A broken and a contrite spirit He will not despise. I desire that brokenness of heart which flows from faith, and that faith which is built upon Christ, the only sacrifice for sin."
Waking from a troubled sleep, she said in a faint voice,
"O dear father, dear mother, how very weak I am."
"God in his tender mercy," said the sorrowing parents, "strengthen your weakness."
"Yea, this is my confidence. A bruised reed will He not break, and the smoking flax will He not quench."
Her parents, surprised and moved at a piety so far beyond her years, could not refrain from a strong burst of tears at the affliction that awaited them in her loss. Greatly grieved at their sorrow, she soothed them and argued with them against its indulgence.
"Oh! why should you so weep over me? Is it not the good Lord that takes me out of this miserable world? Shall it not be well with me, through all eternity? Ought you not to be satisfied, seeing God is in heaven, and doeth whatsoever he pleaseth? Do you not pray every day, that His will may be done? Should we not be content when our prayers are answered? Is not extreme sorrow murmuring against Him? Although I am struck with this sad disease, yet because it is His will, let that silence us. For as long as I live, shall I pray, that His will, and not mine, be done."