TO THE FIRE-FLY.

At morning, when the earth and sky

Are glowing with the light of spring,

We see thee not, thou humble fly!

Nor think upon thy gleaming wing.

But when the skies have lost their hue,

And sunny lights no longer play,

Oh then we see and bless thee too

For sparkling o'er the dreary way.

Thus let me hope, when lost to me

The lights that now my life illume,

Some milder joys may come, like thee,

To cheer, if not to warm, the gloom!