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 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 

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.