When God Calls Little Children
To dwell with Him above,
We mortals always question
The wisdom of His love.
For no heartache compares
With the death of one small child
Who does so much to make this world
Seem wonderful and mild.
Perhaps God tires of calling
The aged to His fold
And 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 little ones departs.
We who are left behind
Must realize God loves little children
Angels are hard to find.
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