Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm
The frame thy wayward looks decide
Required a God to form.
The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flow'd,
A portion of His boundless love
On that poor worm bestow'd.
The sun, the moon, the stars He made
To all the creatures free;
And spreads o'er earth the grassy blade
For worms as well as thee.
Let them enjoy their little day,
Their lowly bliss receive;
Oh, do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give.