Mocking I’ll go, and he shall be postillion,
Until we reach the Keeper of the Door:
"H’m ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ...
There’s some mistake, we’ve had this soul before...."
* * * * * *
Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion;
Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless
The splendid voice of London, like a lion
Calling its lover in the wilderness.
TWO WOMEN SING