Page:Poems by Cushag.djvu/64

62 Gray sheets of mist were rolling up,
 * And pouring through the vale;

When through a rift shone steps of gold—
 * From Heaven to Corna dale.

And John he saw, or thought he saw,
 * Or dreamed he thought he saw,

His Master on those shining steps,
 * And bowed himself in awe.

"My Corna sheep are dear to me
 * As any in the fold,

My Corna dale is near to me
 * As Lebanon of old."

"Thine is the work to save these sheep,
 * Thy glory let it be,

For every soul in Corna dale
 * Thou, John, wilt answer me!"

The cloud uplift: the sun sprang up
 * And sparkled through the vale;

A score of pearly smoke-wreaths rose
 * To Heaven from Corna dale.