Little Angels

I do not know who wrote the poem below. It was inside the funeral announcement I picked up at a recent visitation:

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 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 makes but a few.
To make the hand of Heaven
more beautiful to view.
Believing this is difficult,
still somehow we must try.
The saddest word mankind know will
always be goodbye.
So when a little child departs,
we who are left behind,
must realize God love children.
Angels are hard to find.