Thomas Gisborne (1758–1846)

TURN, turn thy hasty foot aside,

Nor crush that helpless worm!

The frame thy scornful looks deride

Requir’d 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 His 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;

O do not lightly take away

The life thou canst not give!