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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.
