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Nehemiah Adams
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 97 pages of information about Catharine.

Nor was her frame of mind an excitement, or a fictitious experience, to end with sleep.  The next forenoon she renewed the conversation.  She said, “In the night I awoke many times, and always with this thought—­I am not going to live.  Instead of fear and dread, peace came with it.  Names of Christ flowed in upon my mind; and once I awoke with these words in my thoughts—­’And there shall be no night there.’  Now I know that I am to die, I feel less nervous.  I have a calm, unruffled feeling.”  She expressed some natural apprehensions, only, about the possibility of dissolution not having occurred when we should suppose that she was no more.  I told her how kindly God had ordered it that we do not all die together, but one by one, the survivors doing all that the departed would desire—­which satisfied her, and removed her only fear.

She asked leave to make a request respecting her grave; that, if any device were placed upon the stone, it might be of flowers, which had been such a joy and consolation to her in her sickness.  She named the lily-of-the-valley and rose buds.  “I love the white flowers,” said she.  “If you think best, let them be represented in some simple way...  One great desire which I have had was to assort some leaves of flowers into forms for you.  As my bouquets fell to pieces; I gathered the best petals, and leaves, and sprigs, and I have them in a book;” which, at her request, I then reached for her.  I turned the pages.  The book was full of beautiful relics from tokens of remembrance which kind friends had sent to her, and among them were some curiously mottled, green and rose-colored, petals, which she had designed for a wreath, on the first page of the little herbarium, which it was her intention to prepare; and then, with great hesitancy, and protesting their unworthiness, she repeated these simple lines, which she had composed for an inscription within the wreath.  I wrote them down from her lips: 

TO MY FATHER.

    These flowers, which gave me such comfort and hope,
      I pressed, in my sickness, for you;
    Accept them, though faded; they never will droop;
      And believe that my heart is there too.

They who showered these tokens of their regard upon her, will be pleased to know that their gifts did not wholly perish, but that they will constitute an abiding memorial of her friends, as well as of her.

“I know,” she continued, “that I am a great sinner; but I also believe that my sins are washed away by the blood of Christ.”  The way of justification by faith was clear to her mind.  She knew whom she believed, and was persuaded that he was able to keep that which she had committed to him against that day.

In her whispering voice, which disease had for some time so nearly hushed, she said, “I shall sing in heaven.”  Her voice had been the charm of many a pleasant circle.  But she added, “I shall no more sing—­

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