Ye are not your own.

WHY should our tears in sorrow flow, When God recalls his own; And bids them leave a world of woe For an immortal crown?

Is not e'en death a gain to those Whose life to God was giv'n? Gladly to earth their eyes they close, To open them in heav n.

Their toils are past, their work is done, And they are fully blest; They fought the fight, the vict'ry won, And enter'd into rest.

Then let our sorrows cease to flow— God has recall'd his own; And let our hearts, in every woe, Still say—"Thy will be done!"