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Grace E. Easley

THe heart has many seasons,
Just as this good old eart,
And they all combine together,
To comprise what we are worth.
There is a childhood innocence,
In which we dream and play,
There is a time for growing up,
And making our own way.

There is a time for keeping,
And a time for letting go,
A time for moving swiftly,
and a time for walking slow.
There is a time for learning,
And a time for teaching too,
And there is a time for restting,
When all the chores are through.

We all know joy and sorrow,
'Tis written in the plan,
But Heaven waits beyond life's gates,
For every earnest man.
Each life have many pictures,
And all a work of art,
But what a silver symphony,
...The seasons of the heart.