1994 ENGLISH LITERATURE AND COMPOSITION
This section consists of selections from literary works and questions on their content, form, and style.
After reading each passage or poem, choose the best answer to each question and fill in the corresponding oval on
the answer sheet.
Pay particular attention to the requirement of questions that contain the words NOT, LEAST, or EXCEPT.
Read the following passage carefully before you choose your answers.
The Sunday morning service began when Brother
Elisha sat down at the piano and raised a song. This
moment and this music had been with John, so it
seemed, since he had first drawn breath. It seemed that
there had never been a time when be had not known
this moment of waiting while the packed church
paused—the sisters in white, heads raised, the brothers
in blue, heads back; the white caps of the women
seeming to glow in the charged air like crowns, the
kinky, gleaming beads of the men seeming to be lifted
up—and the rustling and the whispering ceased and
the children were quiet; perhaps someone coughed, or
the sound of a car horn, or a curse from the streets came
in; then Elisha hit the keys, beginning at once to sing
and everybody joined him, clapping their hands, and
rising, and beating the tambourines.
The song might be:
Down at the cross where my
Or. Jesus, I'll never forget how you set me free!
Or Lord, hold my hand while I run this race!
They sang with all the strength that was in them, and
clapped their hands for joy. There had never been a
time when John had not sat watching the saints rejoice
with terror in his heart, and wonder. Their singing
caused him to believe in the presence of the Lord;
indeed, it was no longer a question of belief, because
they made that presence real. He did not feel it himself,
the joy they felt, yet be could not doubt that it was, for
them, the very bread of life—could not doubt it, that is,
until it was too late to doubt. Something happened to
their faces and their voices, the rhythm of their bodies,
and to the air they breathed; it was as though wherever
they might be became the upper room, and the Holy
Ghost were riding on the air. His father's face, always
awful, became more awful now, his father's daily
anger was transformed into prophetic wrath. His mother,
her eyes raised to heaven, hands arced before her,
moving, made real for John that patience, that
endurance, that long suffering, which he had read of in
the Bible and found so hard to imagine.
On Sunday mornings the women all seemed patient,
all the men seemed mighty. While John watched, the
Power struck someone, a man or woman; they cried
out, a long, wordless crying, and, arms outstretched
like wings, they began the Shout. Someone moved a
chair a little to give them room, the rhythm paused, the
singing stopped, only the pounding feet and the clapping
hands were heard; then another cry, another dancer, then
the tambourines began again, and the voices rose again,