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 so 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 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.
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