The Firefly by Mary Emily Neeley Bradley

Alone at dusk, her dull day’s labor done,
Sat one whose hope was trembling on despair.
For whom the daylight and the dark were one
In equal dearth of brightness. Sitting where
A little strip of turf sun-baked, and bare
Of bloom or verdure, all her prospect was —
She saw a sudden glimmer in the grass,
And lo, a firefly’s tiny taper there,
Twinkling as brightly the scant stubble through
As if in hedges dewy-sweet it flew.
Then in her soul a lofty shame was born
For vain repinings; and a patient grace,
Which, like the firefly in the barren place,
Shall haply shine through all her ways forlorn.

From: Bradley, Mary, Hidden Sweetness, 1886, Roberts Brothers: Boston, p. 54.
(https://archive.org/details/hiddensweetness00brad)

Date: 1886

By: Mary Emily Neeley Bradley (1835-1898)

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