Aurelia Owens Davis

The Courant American Newspaper
Cartersville, Georgia
July 23, 1896, Page 6
Transcribed and submitted by: 


On the third of July, at her home near Taylorsville, Ga., Mrs. John P. Davis breathed her last. Her maiden name was Aurelia Owens, and she was the daughter of Rev. T. A. Owens, the well known Baptist minister. She leaves a husband and six little children.

Her death was the earthly closing of one of the most beautiful lives that ever graced a community or blessed a home. With absolute truth it can be said of her that she was “a daughter, wife and mother without reproach.”

The writer has known her since she was a young girl just budding into beauteous womanhood. Even now he recalls the cheery smile of that beautiful face, the music of her sweet voice and the charm of her presence that always imparted to those about her the sunshine of her own happy spirit. It was a pleasure to watch this rose bud of a girl pass into the full blown rose of noble womanhood so rich in all the Christian graces that exalt character and ennoble human life. This lovely flower, so meet to bloom in the paradise of God, has closed its petals to the world and now lies sleeping in the dews of death; but the fragrance of that beautiful life will long live in the hearts of those who loved her in life and revere her memory in death.

When she was young she gave her heart to God, and by her consistent life and godly walk and conversation she made it apparent to all with whom she came in contact that she had sat much at the feet of the meek and lowly Jesus.

She was a great sufferer during the last two years of her life, being confined to her bed for eighteen months of that time. But not a murmur ever escaped her lips, and with resignation that was beautiful to see she committed herself to him that doeth all things well.

Our heart goes out to the bereaved husband and children in this dark hour, and we trust that they, following the saintly example of that devoted wife and mother, may so live that when “life’s fitful fever is over” they shall meet her again.

“In that fair land upon whose stand

No winds of winter moan.”

Harry A. Eterige.


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