Young Angles

When God calls children
To dwell with him above
We mortals sometimes question
The wisdom of his love

For no heartache compares
With the death of one child
Who do 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

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"