For the S.P.D

Yesterday afternoon one of our Sumter Police Officers was involved
in an automobile crash on hwy.521.  Cpl. Chuck Nesbit served our community for more

Than 10 years. He will be missed by all of us.

Weep not, weep not,
he is not dead;
he's resting in the bosom of Jesus.
Heart-broken wife--weep no more;
Grief-stricken son--weep no more;
Left-lonesome daughter --weep no more;
he's only just gone home.
yesterday afternoon,
God was looking down from his great, high heaven,
Looking down on all of his children,
And his eye fell on Cpl. Nesbit,
And God's big heart was touched ,
And God sat back on his throne,
And he commanded that tall, bright angel standing at his right hand:

Call me Death!

And that tall, bright angel cried in a voice
That broke like a clap of thunder:
Call Death!--Call Death!
And the echo sounded down the streets of heaven
Till it reached away back to that shadowy place,
Where Death waits with his pale, white horses.
And Death heard the summons,
And he leaped on his fastest horse,
Pale as a sheet in the moonlight.

Up the golden street Death galloped,
And the hooves of his horses struck fire from the gold,
But they didn't make a sound.
Up Death rode to the Great White Throne,
And waited for God's command.

And God said: Go down, Death, go down,
Go down to Sumter S.C,
Down in Rembert,
And find Chuck.
he's borne the burden and heat of the day,
he's labored long in my vineyard,

Go down, Death, and bring him to me.
And Death didn't say a word,
But he loosed the reins on his pale, white horse,
And he clamped the spurs to his bloodless sides,
And out and down he rode,
Through heaven's pearly gates,
Past suns and moons and stars;
on Death rode,
Leaving the lightning's flash behind;
Straight down he came.
And Death took him up like a baby,
And he lay in his arms,
But he didn't feel no chill.
And death began to ride again--
Up beyond the evening star,
Into the glittering light of glory,
On to the Great White Throne.

And there he laid our brother
On the loving breast of Jesus.
And Jesus took his own hand and wiped away his tears,
And he smoothed the furrows from his face,
And the angels sang a little song,
And Jesus rocked him in his arms,
And kept a-saying: Take your rest,
Take your rest.

Weep not--weep not,
he is not dead;
he's resting in the bosom of Jesus