Classic Poem

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!