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,
So he picks on a rosebud
Before it can grow old.

God knows how much we need them
So he takes only a few,
To make the land of Heaven
One beautiful to view.

Believing this is difficult
Still somehow we must try,
The two saddest words 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.

~Author Unknown~