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."
 
The Seasons Of My Soul by: 
Helen Steiner Rice