WHEN GOD CALLS CHILDREN HOME                 
 
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 is tired of calling
The aged to his fold,
So he picks up a rosebud
Before it can grow old.
DON'T WEEP FOR ME anonymous