"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.
Then John the Priest stretched forth his hands
And blessed the rising sun,
And blessed the simple folk around,
And taught them one by one.
No book nor scrip could there be found;
But on rough slabs of rock
He cut and graved as best he might
The lessons for his flock.
And that himself should ne'er forget
His vision in the vale,
He carved—"Of all the sheep is John
The Priest in Corna dale."
Far on the slopes of old Barrule
Lone lies the ruined Keeil,
And there the words of John the Priest
In Runes are living still.
KATE COWLE.
Grip me savadge, Miss Geargie,
An' heis me up in bed,
An' you can be radin' them texes
The while I reddy me head.
Can ye see me hanksher, Miss Geargie?
In the bed it's like it's los'.
Aw well! the couth of the winter!
Me legs is like sticks of fros'.