Lord take this pet if it be your will
she's so young and small and she's oh so ill
Don't let her suffer we ask you please
take this little soul and set our mind at ease
Guide her to Heaven where she'll be at home
where with all the other animals; she can play and roam
Playing all day up in the meadows above
cradled in Your arms covered with Your love
With no more aches and no more pains
she'll play in bright sunshine no more rain
We'll see her again we know we will
so take her Lord if it be your will
John Quealy

 perhaps to much sometimes, and they do not prattle of their deep wisdom,

   but it's the truth and what they have to know. Truth and what they give.

    Even if they do not wish, they must, and follow at a heel, and haunt a
                                 doorstep,

        and cry when we are gone, or roll in the dust. To entertain us,

    yielding up a paw into a hand. They whine because the throat cannot
                                 articulate,

          and even plead for man's forgiving on an anguished note,

  when the legs cannot move fast enough, or faults of clumsiness and frolic

   seem to raise human wrath. O,we are given much by these little beasts

        who aggravate our days with their absurdities and ignorance,

   their jealous faithfulness, their eyes that tell as if man were stripped to
                             bone, had nothing

     more, and found bare. He still would find his dog beside him there,

 to give him comfort, and to tell him then, how good and splendid is the race
                                  of men.

                     Perhaps the only error and the lie,

                           DOG'S TELL TO MEN.
                                      -
                              Author Unknown