Alberta Provincial Archives VITAL STATISTICS INDEX states: Aarsby, Francis died at Youngstown, 1922, Death Reg #1980

Following information obtained from The Plaindealer, published Youngstown, Ab. October 5, 1922,

OBITUARY-FRANCIS AARSBY

Regret to record the death of Francis Willard, second son of Mr. and Mrs. Martin J. Aarsby, which occurred in Youngstown hospital on September 28, 1922 of typhoid fever.

Francis was born at Knox, North Dakota, on November 17 1904. He came with his parents to Chinnok in 1911, and received his education at Chinook school. Clever, pain taking and diligent he always held an honorable position in all his classes, while his happy, cheery, courteous manners endeared him to teachers and pupils alike.

He was taken ill while working on a threshing outfit north of Youngstown and was taken to Youngstown, where he made a brave fight for his life for eighteen days. He was buried on Oct. 1, 1922, Youngstown cemetery.

The whole-hearted sympathy of the people of Chinook district at this time go out to the sorrowing father and mother and to the bereaved sisters and brothers, and while it may be hard for them to see why this bright, promising young life should be thus stricken down in its prime, yet they may be sure that it is the will of t hat all-righteous Father, who is "too wise to err, too good to be unkind."

ODE ON THE DEATH OF FRANCIS AARSBY

(The following poem is sent in by Mrs. W.J. Osmond, sister to Francis Aarsby, who died September 28, 1922./

Dress him in his suit of grey,

Press his marble cheeks so fair;

From his cold and waxen forehead

Smooth the locks of light brown hair.

Francis sleeping, sweetly sleeping,

Give him just a parting kiss,

E'er from mortal eyes he's vanished

To a world of joy and bliss.

Three weeks long the angels waited,

Waited while they watched us here,

Praying we may keep our darling

While they waited for him there.

Safely than at last they bore him

To that land where angels dwell;

Oh! the glorious things he shareth

None but angel tongues can tell,

Darling Francis, how we miss him,

Miss his bright blue eyes of gladness

And his voice so full of glee.

But we know our darling's happy

One among an angel band,

Cared for by a loving saviour

In that bright and glorious land.

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