When God calls little children
to dwell with him above,
We mortals sometime 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,
So He picks a rosebud,
before he can grow old.
God knows how much we need them,
and so he takes but a 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.