Life — March 10, 1898 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AFTER THE BATTLE. FOREVER. BUT DON'T CALL TO-MORROW EVENING, FOR 1 SHA'N'T BE IN.” and Morituri Salutamns, 401. four coupons came too late, after the hour of closing, February 26th, but none of them contained the cor: rect auswer, It will be observed that several of the sentences given and agreed upon by a num ber of contestants fit the picture eve better than the one selected. No do there may still be others not mentione here which are equally as good. This was to be expected from the nature of the contest, FFECTION fondly clings to the departed; they never contradict us, Love Penitent. PAINT me Love, not, as of old Like a reveler overbold— Roses dropping from bis bair, Wings that rise from either shoulder Like a flame and fan the ar— Love is sadder grown and older, Plays no more with bow and arrows, Scarce has heart to feed his sparrows. Paint him like a penitent, Wan with keeping year-long Lent, Worn with watching, faint with prayer, Dust, not roses, in his air, Give him, for his bow and quiver, At his belt a pair of beads; If the cold air make him shiver, Give him sackcloth for his needs. Lingering farewells, merry meetings, Stolen looks and saucy greetings, Dance and song and revel gay, He must put them all away. Bid him with his naked feet Trample out his torch’s flame, Turn from wine and dainty meat, All his wandering fancies tame: Only, lest we quite forget him— We that used to spoil and pet him— Grant him through his penance sad But one gift his childhood had— Neither torch nor shaft nor bow, But the smile we used to know. Henry Johnstone, comicbooks.com