Life, 1921-07-14 · page 8 of 34
Life — July 14, 1921 — page 8: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page features a sentimental poem about dying before the reader and waiting in Heaven, with religious imagery involving St. Peter and Guardian Angels. The poem humorously depicts the speaker's impatience and mischievous behavior in Heaven—powder-dusting her nose, playing harps, and running about—while St. Peter patiently waits for the reader's arrival. The accompanying illustration titled **"As Happy as a King"** shows a whimsical rural scene: a farmer with a donkey cart alongside an ornate horse-drawn carriage. This appears to contrast simple, honest country life against wealthy urbanity—suggesting contentment comes not from riches but from humble living. The image supports the poem's theme of spiritual fulfillment over earthly concerns.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Heaven By MABEL CLELAND LUDLUM F I should die before you I would find Heaven So incomplete without you That good St. Peter And my own particular Guardian Angel (Who is doubtless looking forward To a permanent vacation when I get to Heaven) Will have a hard time Holding on to the end of my new white robe To keep me from toppling over the parapets Looking for you— And I guess they'll sigh and s “Goodness, I wish he’d hurry a To this very silly Zirl.” And every time you do something That might count against you, They'll cross the fingers of the hand That isn’t holding on to me, And pray and pray and pray! d come up Some lady angels, who when on earth Were disappointed in love, May say witheringly: “What more can she want Than the pearly gates and the streets of gold, Not to mention her halo and the harp; There’s no satisfying some folks!” But St. Peter and my Guardian Angel, being a saint and an angel And therefore full of patience, Will laugh in their beards and hang on to me. And when I see you coming up, Up through the little white clouds and the silvery stars, I shall fly to my house of jasper, And powder my nose with star-dust, And straighten my halo and tune up my harp, And sit in the. very frontest window I can find Facing the street of gold. And I shall pretend I have been nonchalantly sitting there Ever since I came to Heaven. And St. Peter and my Angel, Will hitch up their robes, Glad of a chance to rest, And my angel will say: “Why doesn’t she run and meet him And tell him how much she’s missed him?” But St. Peter, being very wise and keeper of the portals of Heaven Ever since there were portals, Will wink his eye and say: “Give her time, boy, give her time!” And I, having you with me, Will recognize at last The niceness of the houses of jasper and the streets of gold, The becomingness of the halo and the pleasure of the harp. Together we'll go shopping for yours, And we'll learn to play duets on our harps And a nice game like quoits with our halos. Then we'll look up our best ancestors and friends And go calling on them in blue and gold taxi-stars. And we'll thank God personally for giving us each other. And this, my dear, will be Heaven. “As Happy as a King” comicbooks.com Ju