The Seasons Of My Soul by: Helen Steiner Rice

Why am I cast down
And despondently sad
When I long to be happy
And joyous and glad?

Why is my heart heavy
With unfathomable weight
As I try to escape
This soul-saddened state?

I ask myself often ...
"What makes life this way,
Why is the song silenced
In the heart that was gay?"

And then, with God's help
It all becomes clear,
The "Soul" has its "Seasons"
Just the same as the year.

I, too, must pass through
Life's autumn of dying,
A desolate period
Of heart-hurt and crying.

Followed by winter
In whose frostbitten hand
My heart is as frozen
As the snow-covered land.

Yes, man too must pass
Through the seasons God sends,
Content in the knowledge
That everything ends.

And, Oh! What a blessing
To know there are reasons
And to find that our soul
Must, too, have it's seasons.

"Bounteous Seasons"
And "Barren Ones," too.
Times for rejoicing
And times to be blue.

But meeting these seasons
Of dark desolation
With strength that
is born Of anticipation

That comes from knowing
That "autumn-time sadness"
Will surely be followed by a
"Springtime of Gladness."