The
Seasons Of the Soul
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."
Helen Steiner
Rice
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