Being a Jew, he brought up his daughter in the strictest
principles of his faith.
It was not long after that his daughter was taken sick. The rose faded
from her cheek, her strength failed, and it was certain that she could
not live long. Her father was deeply affected. He tried to talk with
her, but could seldom speak without weeping. He spared no expense to
have her get well. One day he was walking in the wood near his house
when he was sent for by his dying daughter. With a heavy heart he
entered the door of her room, and he saw that he was now to take the
last farewell of his daughter.
"My father," said the child, "do you love me?" "Yes," he replied, "you
know that I love you." "I know, father, you have ever loved me. You
have been a kind father, and I tenderly love you. Grant me my dying
request."
"What is it, my child? ask what you will, though it take every
farthing of my property, it shall be granted. I _will grant_ your
request."
"My dear father, I now beg of you never again to speak lightly of
Jesus of Nazareth; I know that he is a Saviour, and that he has made
himself known to me, since I have been sick, even for the salvation of
my soul.
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