“City Affairs.”

Death of Alex Simpson.

A shadow of gloom was cast over the entire community when it was announced that Alex Simpson was dead.

Whenever mention was made of this sad fact the expression was that of sorrow and regret that “death, like an untimely frost,” should have fallen upon one so universally beloved. Had Alex. Simpson lived until September 24 th he would have attained his sixteenth year. By his gentlemanly bearing and lovable disposition he had won a warm place in the hearts of all who knew him. He was universally beloved because he was a good boy in the truest sense of the word. He was a joy and comfort to his loved ones, and never did he cause their hearts a moment’s pain. He was far above the average boy of his years in sterling worth and manly character.

After a brief illness of less than three weeks the summons came to “Come up higher,” and the anxious watchers by his bedside whispered, “he is gone,” as his spirit winged its flight to God.

The falling rain did not deter the many sympathizing friends and neighbors from filling the Presbyterian church, where the simple funeral service was conducted by the pastor. Additional solemnity was given the service as the Sabbath school, of which Alex. was a member, joined with the choir in singing appropriate hymns. The vacant chair placed at the right of the pulpit told in language more eloquent than speech that he had gone to his long home.

The remains were laid to rest in Oak Hill Cemetery, the following companions of the deceased acting as pallbearers: Messrs. John Calhoun, Clifford Freeman, Alfred Ackerman, Benham Jones, Frank Satterfield and Will Milam.

On last Friday evening, just as the moonlight began to mingle with the darkness of earth, the shadows of death were falling around the life of this young man. He had just reached that age where manhood and usefulness begin; and during his short career he gave every evidence of a conception of life which would make his name an honor to those who loved him and a blessing to all.

Blessed are they who die in the Lord, for they shall live again. Thrice blessed are they whose lives go not out as the fading sunlight into the darkness of night, but rather go down like the morning star, into the full light of beautiful day.

Weep not, mother, your boy is dead,

But gone to sweeter realms of love—

Today, while sorrow bows your head,

He sings with angels far above.

We often wonder why it is

The purest young so early die,

We do not know, unless it’s this,

God wants them for his home on high.

Weep not, then, for him who’s gone,

For he in higher worlds than this

Stands with the saints around God’s throne,

Where life is all one perfect bliss.

We gather flowers, most beauteous

When smiles of sunshine ‘round us play,

God with death, His hand of love, does thus,

Gather lives of gentleness every day.

When noble youth sinks down to rest

And lies in death so cold and still,

His soul with God among the blessed,

We trusting say it is His will.

We should not grieve when thus they leave

This world of sorrow, for we know

Beyond the grave they shall receive

A golden crown. Christ made it so.

Then dry your tears and cease to weep;

Rejoice that from all care he’s free,

In Christ’s sweet love his soul does sleep,

Death is the power that lets such be.

--A Friend.