15/04/2006
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 Good~bye.
So when a little child departs,
We who are left behind
Must realize God loves children,
Angels are hard to find...
