by Charles Wesley
Wherefore should I make my moan,
Now the darling child is dead?
He to rest is early gone,
He to paradise is fled!
I shall go to him, but he
Never shall return to me
God forbids his longer stay,
God recalls the precious loan!
He hath taken him away,
From my bosom to his own.
Surely what he wills is best;
Happy in his will I rest.
Faith cries out, "It is the Lord!
Let him do what seems him good,
Be thy holy name adored,
Take the gift a while bestowed;
Take the child no longer mine;
Thine he is, for ever thine!"