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 so wonderful and mild.
Perhaps god tires of calling the aged to his fold, so he picks a little rose bud before it can grow old.
God knows how much we need them, so he takes but just a few,
To make the land of Heaven more beautiful to view.
Beleiving this is difficult still somehow