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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 a 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 little rosebud before it can grow old.
God knows how much we need them, so He takes but a 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. 🕊