(Horn)

Herald: Ah! now—the sacred grove of Mother Africa—serene, retired, and weird. It's here I've laboured these forty years as Herald of Mother Africa; no service is sweeter than service to Mother Africa, bountiful patroness of the Gold Coast. It's 1948 this, a year of great national re-awakening, and the Mother yesterday told me that a few years are to roll by and then will appear the Dawn of a New Era for the Gold Coast. And this must be true! Great Mother Africa knows the destiny of men and of nations. In a year, she says, she will appear in human form to consecrate her people in their path to Independence, and recall them to their responsibility to Africa and the negro race. The clarion now loudly calls for unity and co-operation. O glorious Dawn, come, I pray you come— come and usher in this New Era—the era of hard work, ambitious experiment, successful enterprise. But what have I now in my hand? A proclamation! It's Mother Africa who orders this proclamation and I read it with a heavy heart:

(A bell rings)

Death: Sorrow in the land, sorrow in the land. I, Death, declare it.

(A sound of wailing)

Herald: Ah, that's Death ringing his bell of woe. Alas, the hour has come and Mother Africa's summons are being served. Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes. Death is hard on his task. There's weeping and gnashing of teeth in many a home, as chief and commoner, rich and poor, strong and feeble, alike receive their summons. How distressing, how exasperating, it is to know that contrary to all one's expectations the hour of death is so near.