death of wm lloyd wm win lloyd the husband of marl mari all ali lloyd who resides here in bountiful atif ua died in ogden city on the of july being eighty 0 years and six months old the funeral services were held at the second ward meeting house of that city his wife and their four children being in attendance mary lloyd the young lady who suddenly died of typhoid bev fever er here in bountiful about a year ago was his daughter deceased had bad a a stroke two years ago last march which later turned to dropsy finally resulting in death he resided a at t nine mile idaho for upwards of fourteen years the following deses were composed in honor of the anniversary of ills his eightieth birthday POEM TO WILLIAM LLOYD A poem in honor of his bis el eightieth birthday by matilda aldous of nine mile idaho GROWING OLD they call it going down the hill when we are growing old and speak with mournful accents when our we tale Is ia nearly told they sigh when talking of the past the days that used to be As if the future were not bright with immortality but bot it is not going down itis climbing higher until we almost seethe see the mountain that our souls desire for if the natural eye grows dim it is but dim to earth while the eye of faith grows keener and and discern the saviors worth who would exchange for shooting blade the waving golden arian or when the corn Is fully ripe wish it green again ag ain and who w would wish the hoary head found in the way of truth to be again anale encircled with the sunny locks of youth for though la in truth the outward man must perish and decay the inward man abali shall be renewed by grace from day to day those who are planted by the lord unshaken in their root shall in their old age flourish tio and bring forth their choicest fruit it is not years that make men old oid the spirit may be young though fully tour four score re the wheel of life has run god has himself recorded in his blessed word of truth and when the eye no now w dim shall ope open n to behold the king and ears now dull with age shall hear the harps of heaven ring and on the head hand now low hoary shall be placed the crown of gold then shall be known the lasting joy of never growing old