He staggered in from night and frost and fog <br />And lampless streets: he’d guzzled like a hog <br />And drunk till he was dazed. And now he came <br />To hear—he couldn’t call to mind the name— <br />But he’d been given a ticket for the show, <br />And thought he’d (hiccup) chance his luck and go. <br /> <br />The hall swam in his eyes, and soaring light <br />Was dazzling splendid after the dank night. <br />He sat and blinked, safe in his cushioned seat, <br />And licked his lips; he’d like a brandy, neat. <br /> <br />‘Who is the King of Glory?’ they were saying, <br />He pricked his ears; what was it? Were they praying?... <br />By God, it might be Heaven! For singers stood <br />Ranked in pure white; and everyone seemed good; <br />And clergymen were sitting meekly round <br />With joyful faces, drinking in the sound; <br />And holy women, and plump whiskered men. <br />Could this be Heaven? And was he dead? And then <br />They all stood up; the mighty chorus broke <br />In storms of song above those blameless folk; <br />And ‘Hallelujah, Hallelujah!’ rang <br />The burden of the triumph that they sang. <br /> <br />He gasped; it must be true; he’d got to Heaven <br />With all his sins that seventy times were seven; <br />And whispering ‘Hallelujah’ mid their shout, <br />He wondered when Lord God would turn him out.<br /><br />Siegfried Sassoon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-choral-union/
