She always loved to hear Roger's verse and prayer.
"Hush! hush!" said the lady who was watching beside the couch. "Your
dear mamma is too ill to hear you to night." And as she said this, she
came forward and laid her hand gently upon his arm as if she would
lead him from the room. "I cannot go to bed to night," said the little
boy, "without saying my prayers--I cannot."
Roger's dying mother heard his voice, and his sobs, and although she
had been nearly insensible to everything around her, yet she requested
the attendant lady to bring the boy and lay him near her side. Her
request was granted, and the child's rosy cheek nestled in the bosom
of his dying mother.
"Now you may repeat this verse after me," said his mother, "and never
forget it: 'When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take
me up.'" The child repeated it three times--then he kissed the pale
cheek of his mother, and went quietly to his little couch.
The next morning he sought as usual for his mother, but she was now
cold and motionless. She died soon after little Roger retired to his
bed. That was her last lesson to her darling boy---he did not forget
it.
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