When God calls little children,
To dwell with him above.
We mortals sometimes question,
The wisdom of his love..
For no heartache compares with
The death of one small child
Who does so much to make our world
Seem wonderful, and mild..
Perhaps God tires of calling
The aged to his fold,
And so he picks a rosebud,
Before it can grow old..
God knows how much we need them,
And so he takes but few,
To make the land of Heaven
More beautiful to view..
Believing this is difficult
Still, somehow we must try,
The saddest word mankind knows
Will always be "Goodbye"..
So when a little child departs,
We who are left behind
Must realize, God loves children..
Angels are hard to find..
