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.
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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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