Simple Steve

"He is coming, I see him well enough.

A-coming up to me, that's what he tries,
I hear him full of wrath, to scold and scoff,

Ne'er in my life I saw such murderous eyes,

How he the horses whips! To me 'tis plain
He 's after me, he runs a mighty gait,

Now even he has thrown to them the rein,
They must drop dead to gallop at this rate.
List' my dear man, can you not be, I say,
A decent fellow and leave me alone!

I tell you, Sir, you let me go my way
And you can go well — where the devil 's
known.
Is not this prairie wide enough for two?
There's surely elbow room for you and me.
Whey should you then persist me to, pursue,
The right is yours, the left for me leave free.
If you insist that I respect shall show,
Why, very well, I'll be a decent chap,

If you allow me but my way to go:

I'll promptly doff to you, dear Sir, my cap."
Thus spoke the simple youth upon the road
To the terrific torrent Which come down.

The pouring rain howe'er no pity showed
Bait rained as if it tried that youth to drown.
And he, the simple youth, what did he do?

The youth stood still, and musingly he stands
As once great Caesar stood when Brutus drew
The dagger which Caesar saw in his hands.

Like Caesar he his cloak drew o'er his face...
That is to say he would have done this thing
If he had had a cloak, but in its place
He wears a linen coat of last year's spring.
Nevertheless, as would around his neck
Two or three coats hang and a mackintosh:

He stood, as stands the captain on his deck,

And then, good-naturedly he says: "Well, bosh!"
If you care not for what to you' I said,
Then go to Jericho, we yet shall see

Who will get weary first, just go ahead,
I care not if you drench me with the sea.
My God! my God! in all the world the best

Of Christians I am, for surely none
Had been baptized so soft, still I detest
To feel this water down my back to run.
Flow, torrent flow! I care not for the rain!
Just now you try to wash a negro white,
You might wash off each stitch of clothes, — that's
plain,
But my philosophy no rain can spite.
Good humor is the cloak for man to wear,
The tailor sewing it, — a Master he!
And cheap?! Indeed it is cheap as air,
To wear it though but few people we see."
Thus mused the youth and slowly onward strolled,
He laughed aloud as if it were a joke .

The torrent, to revenge what 'he had told,

Renewed the force wherewith the vouth to soak.
The youth howe'er all this with patience bore,
Again stood still and simply stood serene.

Thought to himself, as be had thought before,
To kick would 'neath his dignity have geen.

At last the angry clouds were forced to yield,
All of them there disperse, clear is the sky;

A splendid rainbow rose on heaven's field.

Did our youth's happy mood rise in the sky?

"Fair rainbow," — said the wanderer, — "my word,
You are as multicolored as my past,
Bright as the tail of Paradise's bird,
My life as bright as that be 'henceforth cast.
Fair rainbow, — triumph's arc — built in the sky,
In honor of the victory of dawn,
Which made the angry torrent fly and die
And which the dark coluds into shreds had torn,
Fair rainbow, thou art far away from me,
But farther still the town I should to day

Have reached. The day is nearly gone I see,
And awful is the mud upon the way.

Although no prophet I, nevertheless

One thing I dare foretell and that is this:

The girls in town will be in great distress,
Because the chance to admire me they'll miss.

The dear girls know of course "how great my grief,
I can not help it though, what can I do?

If I had wings! That would be prompt relief"
I'd fly as does that stork I yonder view.

What is then to be done? To pass the night
Here in the field, I promptly must decline,

Drenched to the skin no man can find delight,
To stay outdoors his health to undermine.
I know, they call me Simple Steve, howe'er
I am not such a fool as that. I see

Not far from here a house. Well, I declare!
Of course, to enter it, I'll make so free.

Judged by the looks it is a robber's nest,

A meeting place for cutthroats and for thieves.

No fear of aught need have that kind of guest
Who, like myself, his gold in goldmines leaves.

Behold! The chimney smokes, from this I know:
A fire ablaze the kitchen-stove must hold.

'Ergo,' I may enjoy a hearth's warm glow,
"Come, eat with us!" — I might be even told.

Is it not happiness, — fa perfect bliss, —

That I of logic am not ignorant,
Or else this reasoning I'd surely miss,
The praise of schools I shall forever chant."
It is a dreary house he nad espied
Down in the prairie's heart and where the night
To spend his needs and reasoning decide,

"Let's go!" He says, "I do myself invite."

An awful sight,

No ruin quite,
Is it a living- being's room,
Or a dilapitated tomb?

Like weeping orphan children stand around
Their mother's grave, thus can a few wild trees

Around that godforsaken home be found.

At one time it has been the masterpiece

Of clever architects, it was no mean
Structure by peasant built. The iron teeth

Of time had gnawed on it, the things now seen
The rotteness of long decay but breathe.
The plastering is peeling off the wall,

The window-blinds are loose, the wind's first blow

Might cause each one of them to break and fall,
No mending care did e'er they undergo.

An old and lazy dog, lies at the door,
Content to gnarl alike at friend or foe,

That's all he does, he guards the house no more,
Poor, toothless beast, relic of long ago.

The servants' house is in the rear, there stands

A hoary headed farmer's help, he'd work
If he would work, — some tools are in his hands, —
Yoke, nail and axe, to use them though he'll shirk.

. All is so sad

As the look at a hearse,
As if it had
. Been cursed by a curse.

Our young friend thought as to the house came

nigh :

The Tartar's fell invasion 's not yet o'er,
Not here at least, it seems, but what care I,

E'en if Tamerlan's hordes here roar and soar.
If Dzendis-Khan or any other Khan
The master here, I enter all the same!

I've got to sleep somewhere, I fear no man,
Whate'er might be his station or his name!

He entered bold,

To behold
A woman old.

She stirred the fire with a big iron thong,

Full of enthusiasm he began:
''Good evening, Rose of mine so fair and young

As my dear great-grandmother is, I can"
The worthy old dame though breaks in his speech:
"You can do nothing here! just turn around
-And go! And if you don't, well, then I will teach
You manners and a thing or two! Confound!
How dare you enter here? This is no inn,
And at this hour of day," The youth
howe'er
.Proceeds: "Sweet heart! I am drenched to the skin,
And late at night it is, else I'd not dare
To enter here, therefore my dear old rose" —
He could not end his say, she turned and yelled:

"Get out, and get out quick, do you suppose
I'll listen to your bold, unparallelled" —

The youth howe'er stood still: "Who is the boss?"
He asks, "he may grant me what you denied,

I cannot talk with you, you are too cross,
Let me the master see, let him decide."

"I am the master here, who asks for me?"
In deep and solemn tones someone replies.

The voice sounds as if from the depth of sea
'T came from a bell which at its bottom lies.

The old man's head is white, as white as snow
And white the moustache and the flowing beard.

The forehead 's high but richly furrowed though,
A figure to be honored and revered.

He stands erect, a cross built on the road,

The winter's snow had wrapped it in pure white.

Solemnity his very figure showed,
And dignity his very eyes indite.

As if he were a churchyard, thus he stood,
Wherein many a dead had been laid by.

That joy 's the oldest grave therein one could
With ease with one glance at him verify.
Lighthearted wantonness wherewith our youth -
Had clad his soul, he promptly casts away,

And modestly, as it behooves, — in truth

Always well mannered 'he, — he turns to say:

''Kind Sir! Forgive me pray, a wanderer I,
Not frozen yet — true — tout I dont perspire,

I am drenched to the skin, my clothes to dry
Believe me, is just now my chief desire.

And then, if of the kindness of your heart
There still is left for me a tiny share,

I'd ask of you, do not let me depart,
Assign to me a place o'er night, somewhere."

' 'Tis well!" he said, it was a short reply,
The old man turned around and left him there.

The answer though his spirit made rise high,
More to expect just then he did not dare.

Near to the hearth he finds a cosy seat,
Contentedly he sits, enjoys his rest;

A king upon a throne had not so sweet
A rest as that with which the youth is blessed.
''The world is mine" — thus ran his thoughts, —
"I knew
I shall secure a good home for the night,
And looking at my case in proper view:
A good square meal too shall be my delight."
Such thoughts and thoughts like these went through
his mind,
A thousand funny things he thought that eve.
Why should he not have day-dreams of this kind.
Was he not known by name as "Simple Steve?"
Whate'er has been and what he might expect
He thought of then and there with mind awake,
Did nothing 'but reflect and recollect
And bold and high the flight his fancies take.
Then to his thoughts he would expression give,
The poor old dame to listen thereto bound;
Not yet in life, as long as she did live
Had she heard man such funny things propound.
He said enough to load three wagons full, —
—Three big hay-rigs at that; — once in a while
The things he said entered even the dull
Mind of the dame and caused that she would
smile.
Ah! long ago it was that she smiled last.
Her giggle sounds as when a rusty key
Is moved in rusty lock wherein held fast,
But happy she, it was easy to see.
That not too long I draw the story out,
Let me report. The greyhead came and said

"Young man! Gome eat with me!" and then without
Another word, sat at the table's head.
The youth, when at the second time his plate
He had piled up, felt that his mind ran thus:

Mistress Methusalem indeed is great!
Who thought she'd cook such fine supper for us!

This is a royal feast, a pity though

That we, enjoying it, sit mute and dumb.

I'll entertain him with my speech, I owe
This much to him, whate'er of it may come.
"Kind Sir! my honored host: most excellent
The things we eat, but all have one great fault.
If you think it is not impertinent
I'll point it out: they all are lacking salt.
No! Not that salt! I mean another kind
Of salt which of our meals the choicest season:
It is the pleasant speech, and you will find
In what I told you there is solid reason.
The very fish we ate, saw they how mute
We sit around would mock and laugh in glee.
Not a death-chamber this? To execute
To morrow one of us, — not you, not me, —
No hangman waits. Silence is half a death.
I almost fear always silent to be.
If you, dear Sir, howe'er want save your breath,
To do myself the talking I'll agree.
And I can talk on history and art,
On agriculture and astronomy,
Zoology and of the human heart,
On heaven and hell and plain anatomy.
Known is to me the North, South, West and East,
In royal palaces I have dwelled,
Have lived in beggar's hut and fast and feast

To me, my fate in every form had dealt.

Just tell me, Sir, whereof shall I now speak?"
The grayhead's answer shows his heart how sore,

He says, the while his eyes the distance seek:
"For naught in life do I care any more!"

"Please, my dear Sir," — the youth broke in — "say not
These things, you sin against God if you do.

Ah! fair and sweet is life He did allot

To us, why then shall you His gifts forego?"

"What? Life is sweet and fair?" the host replies
And shakes his hoary head, "Not so, my boy;

If it be sweet and fair 't is but the prize
Of very few. No! No! Life is not joy!

If you the burden of three score ten years —
Of eighty years shall once bear in your heart,

Which time not e'en a faded flower endears.
Which years not one sweet memory impart,
When life's tree 's about to fall and you
Can't say that even once to its twig flew

The bird of happiness, e'en once you knew
It singing in its branches, on which grew

The fruits of agony of soul and mind,

Which hang on them as men on gallows hang:

Wilt then, my boy, say, will you still it find
That you were right when you life's praises sang?
My youth saw winter's rage,
Can you, for my old age,
A spring's blossoms presage?
Ah! Once I loved, an angel she had been,
So fair and sweet and pure and born on high!
Mud threw at her malignity most mean.
On earth, — a dunghill, — she lay down to die.
My spring of life having no flowers known,
The ghosts of my despair I bravely dare,
And full of hope await the fairer zone
Of summer's sun and fruitful autumn's air.
Both came, both passed, — what did they bring? If I
To tell it all now here would undertake:

The tale would surely bring tears to your eye,
Nay more, my boy, the tale your heart might

break.

The short contents of my long out drawn woe,
Here are they, list: two children in the grave,

One son is still alive, for this one though
I weep no more, he is an outcast knave.

I cast him off. Ten years I have not seen

That son. Ten years the world 's a blank to me,

Since then but one desire in me is keen: '
Within mv coffin laid to rest to be.

SIMPLE STEVE
I settled my acccount with life, what more
Wants it of me? Why then not let me pass?

Life drank my heart's blood to the very core,
Then why not throw away the empty glass?

Life! cursed thou art!
Life! be accursed!
This poor slaves's heart
Thou hast immersed
Into a sea
Of agony!
Life! I curse thee!
All in this life is cursed. One only thing
There is in life which I do not detest:
The grave dug in the churchyard where they'll bring
My coffin once! That hole, that grave be blessed!

A bliss it surely is to turn to dust

And to forget our sufferings since birth.

There comes relief! Death brings relief I trust
From what we suffer here, our life on earth."

And now he stopped this man of many years,
— Of many years of suffering, — then bowed

His head. The youth could scarce keep back his

tears,
And only after pausing long allowed

Himself to speak again: To me all woe

Is sacred, doubly so is that of age.
I do not want to hurt, — forgive me though, —

If what I say does not your pains assuage .

Kind host, 't is for your sin you must atone,
The punishment met out then bravely bear,

If this be great, your sin is also known
As great and serious, it is: "despair."
Yes, Sir, it is a sin most serious.

Because it is not more — not less
Than blasphemy . dark and hideous.

Despair 's the voice of hell. When wretchedness-
Having lost faith in God, — cries out aloud

To heaven: "There is no God within thy realm.
When man has such most dreadful things avowed:

Should not the wrath of God him overwhelm?

Should not the hand of God heavily weigh
On such a man? We have in Heaven

A Father who protects us night and day.
Whose care divine to all mankind is given.

We must trust Him. we must patiently wait, —
His children on this earth are numerous, —

Wre must not think ourselves unfortunate
If His "first blessings do not come to us.

The law is this: wait for your turn and not
In vain you'll wait. Just as around the sun

Revolves each day the earth, thus shall your lot
In life yet be: you have God's mercy won.

And none He'll miss. Came not your turn to day
'Tis sure to come the next. On this rely:

Till man not happy made by God's own way, —
Believe me, Sir, — till then he can not die.

This happiness due to man comes never late.

One drop thereof effects a wondrous feat:
All former ills will promptly dissipate.
A mighty sea of woes becometh sweet."

Thus spoke the youth. The old man was all ear.
He listened with the keenest interest.
His mind takes in whatever it doth hear

As infants take the milk from mother's breast.
And when the youth had stopped the old man said
Amazed he was, that was easy to see, —

"This wisdom, friend, who put it in your head?
Who are you Sir? What is your name? Tell me."

The youth, — he had been serious too long,

And felt that he again should have some fun, —

Good-naturedly replied: "I lived among
Some old wise owls, from them I won

All wisdom that is mine. As to my name,
I am almost sorry that you inquire,

I have no home, I don't know whence I came,
And a migrating bird 's my great-grand-sire.

I roam throughout the world, — (now here, now there,
I only lift my hat to whom I please.

Hungry to be, — that is my only care,
I'm the happier the more I freeze

Because my future happiness the more
I shall appreciate. Not to deceive

You as to my true name I one time bore,
I will confess, I am called: "Simple Steve,"

Just now, my true name though I don't know yet.

Next morning Simple Steve goes to his host,
To pay with pleasant speech gratitude's debt.

Said to himself: "Now, Steve, pay what ow'est.

"Good bye old man, when at some future day
Sweet happiness is yours: remember me,

Who prophesied it. that on your life's way
The sun shall brightly shine, and happy be!'
The trembling hoary head claspeth his hand,
A burning tear rolls o'er the furrowed face,
"Farewell! young man, you woke in me
and and
From whom I well, I find no word of
grace
Farewell! But no! Let me say this to you:
Why bid good bye? Why not remain with me?
Stay here as long you care, we'll say adieu
When weary you have grown my friend to be.
Tell me again what you said yesterday,
Tell it to me an hundred times or more,
To me it does a sweet message convey
And helps my faith and confidence restore.
You will remain with me! Say: yes! My friend."
The youth replied: "Well, yes, I shall remain!
The matters standing thus, you may depend
I'll see to it, that here good cheer shall reign.
And if in speech like yesterday's you find
Aught pleasure, well, my speech shall not run dry

In hundred years" What's that? The noisy
grind
Of wagon wheels, loud calls and now a cry
Are heard before the door. What is this noise?
The old man calls: "No one must enter here!"
But then there comes a maiden's silvery voice:
"Not even I? Not I, Grandfather dear?"
The door ajar:
We're made aware
Of maiden fair,
With beauty rare,
Pale as a star,
To have entered there.
She falls upon the old man's breast, who knows
Not what it means. With kisses covers she

His face, wet from the tear that o'er it flows,
Midst sobs and throbs she says: "You don't

know me,

Your grandchild I! Like to a cross I cling-
To you, with hope and faith, with joy and grief,

Grandfather dear, to you my life I bring,
God grant it! that near you I find relief.

Protect me, pray! To whom shall I appeal
If not to you! O, that I had to run

Away from him, that hatred I must feel
For him who is my father, is your son.

It is his home from which I ran away,
He tried to force me that I marry one
Whom I detest. No heart has he to flay

And kill my own! Pray, let it not be done!

I sobbed and wept and cried, but all in vain.
My tears fell on a statue hewed of stone.

Do I, dear Sir, your sympathy not gain
No fate than is as cruel as my own.

I understand what means that look! Oh, dear!

Reproach me not, that only now, when I
In direst need, I thought of coming here,

That I, — because I must, — to you now fly.

Misjudge me not! An hundred times would I
Have gladly come, but he commanded: "No!"

He said: you loved no one, are shy and hie
Yourself from us because you hate us so!

Now I am here. Thank God, I am now here
And nevermore shall I from here depart,

Unless you should — unmoved ee'n by my tear,
Refuse your help and thereby crush my heart!"
What not the grayhead tried as a reply
To say! One word, his feelings to express,

While not enough — as much as he would try,
He could not find. — Mute is his happiness.

Heartrending sobs and burning tears alone
Gave evidence that he was strangely moved,

Ne'er in his life he probably had known

To shed tears which as joyous tears had proved.

Just like two rising, overflowing streams
In one great inundation meet, thus met

Within his mind scenes of his life: it seems
His past and future were before him set.
This flood of thought held him with iron grips.
Though not his life. — he feard to lose his mind-
Then broken phrases rise upon his lips,
She hears him say. "For you sweet child I
pined
I have some one to love! — I feel my hair
Is turning black, no longer white as snow,
I saw her once before, that time howe'er
In swaddling clothes. Oh! that was long ago!
How big she is! And how she looks at me!
Where are you. my young friend? draw to us near.
Look at this maid, my sweet granddaughter she!
Come my young friend and witness my good cheer.
Give me your hand, my friend, but yesterday
You said, — the sentiment was fine and high. —

'Till man not happy made in God's own way,
That until then. — you said. — man can not die.
My grandchild comes to me with loving trust.

And nevermore to leave me e'en agrees-
Your father's aim I too say is unjust,

His persecuting you must promptly cease.
. I shall protect you child and will defend!

You need not fear, you are now in my care!"
Such is his speech almost without an end,
And lovingly he pats the maiden fair.

Again a noise is heard. A voice betrays:
The father claims his daughter at the door,

The old man opes the door and proudly says:
"No, Sir, you can't come in here anymore.

This is no home for sacrilegious man '
Like you, a sacrilegious, heartless soul.

But no! Come! Enter here, come if you can,
My corpse though must first from the threshold

roll.

Your daughter? She is here and here remains,
She is no longer yours. Without remorse

You would ruin her life beneath the chains
Of loveless wedlock you would on her force.

Once you abandoned me, your daughter now

Abandones you. — Ideal justice this!
To God and His eternal law I bow:

The father and the son we now dismiss!

I curse you not, nor do I blessings give,
Just go and nevermore come to us nigh.

Out of our lives! Live as you want to live,
Let us not meet again beneath the sky!"
The son, crushed by the father's wrothful ire,
Dare not reply, silently sneaked away.

The outstretched arm of his angry sire
Showed him the road and forced him to obey.

There stood the hoaryhead, majestic, grand!
A figure like a pillar formed of ice
In far off northern climate's snowbound land.
But as the son retreats, the father sighs.
One deep, soulstirring sigh he heaves and sends
After the son he now has lost fore'er.
Then cool and calm, all is well he pretends
And reenters the room all debonnair.
Within the room a painful silence reigned,
None of them dared or cared the silence break

But finally, the youth his pluck regained
And blurted out: "Tis time my leave to take.

Yes, my dear Sir, I think there is no need
That any longer I with you remain,
There is now someone here, she will succeed
Her dear, old grandfather to entertain.

With my good humor and my stout, good cane
Let me again now go upon my way.

Farewell! May happiness forever reign

Within your heart old man, and yours fair May.'

Then he would go. The host howe'er his hand
Holds fast and gently, though to a degree

Commanding voice he says: As I have planned
Before between us two, so must it be.

You stay right here, what was but a request
Before, is now my one command. You saw

My sorrows and my woe, now be my guest
When love and happiness combine to thaw

The ice from off my heart." "All right, I stay,
And gladly stay, but one condition make;" —

The youth replied. — "permit me to repay
Your kindness by allowing me to take

Charge of the farm and home. There being now
A lady here; all must be trim and neat-

I shall manage the things, yes, I know how.
Leave it to me I earnestly entreat.
This house looks now as if it were the lair
Or den of bear or wolf, unfit for men,

And less so as the home of lady fair,
Just wait until I carry out my plan!"

And with a will he started to the work.
The servants were aroused, — though lazy they, —
Still he, a-leading them, they dared not shirk
The tasks assigned and dared not disobey.
Brooms, rags and scrubbing and whitewashing
brush,
A-boiling water, soap and kalsomine,
All were to good use put and in a rush
The house's inside and its outside shine.
And clean and in good order are all things,
The ancient dirt and rust have disappeared.

The change delightful satisfaction brings
To all of them, to every one endeared
Is Simple Steve, who did it all. He did

What he had planned most thoroughly and well.

During the evening host and lady bid
Him of one of his funny stories tell.

His was a master mind he seemed to know
By intuition what to say or do,
He knew that in the field sweet flowers grow

Which girls will always with great pleasure view.

And knowing this he goes each early morn
Into the field and gathering sweet flowers

Wove to a garland wherewith to adorn
The window of that pretty maid of ours.

When the girl arose,
Each morning a rose
Of sweet hue and scent

Is lovingly sent —

By whom? Oh! she knows!
Each morning a garland of flowers fair,
During the day most entertaining speech;
To sing his praise the host does never spare,
The flowers and the praise the girl's heart reach.
Thus are filled out, thus fly the hours and days,
Yea, that the truth be known, the months e'en
All unawares, the season but betrays: pass
It is almost a year he met the lass.
There is no use to dilly-dally now,
For, after all, the truth must e'er prevail.
I am almost ashamed to tell it how
It happened, — but it did, — a funny tale
It is, still a most natural event.
Picked up his odds and ends and staff in hand
Before his greyhead host quietly went
To say something to him he long had planned.

He never said what he had wished to say,
As if he all at once had mute become,

Stood silent, not by speech could he convey
Why to his greyhead host he thus had come.

His eyes, his face's red betrayd it though,
The old man understood, — so did the maid

At her grandfather's side, — that he to go
Away from them had preparation made.

The youth and maid
Try to evade
Each other's eye,
In vain they try.
They heave a sigh,
And then they cry.
The old man knew
The wind that blew.
From the back if his guest

The knapsack removed,
And the maiden thought best:

Conditions improved
If she took from him his cane, —
This would then constrain
The youth to remain.

And e'er since then to dark corner consigned
The knapsack and that staff of his we find.
Our Simple Steve is not foolish enough
To leave when things stood thus. Of better stuff

Are made his mind and heart. Now that he felt
To be with love regarded by the two,

Respected by the host with whom he dwelt
And not in vain for her love he would sue:

Quick his decision came- "Yes! I shall stay."

The autumn came, its winds blew o'er the heathy

And although rare the flowers bright and gay
They culled enough for a fine bridal-wreath.

When from the church they came as man and wife
The dear old man but said: "Thank God of High!

Dear children be as happy in your life
As I am now, and happy now I'll die!"

"You must not die," — whispered the groom-elect,
"Your great-grandchildren in the course of time

To come will too your sweet blessings expect,
Don't think of death, you are still in your prime!"

Years come, years go and time ceaselessly flies,
Who could the other cause more happiness

Within that home, one with the other vies,
Their hearts are filled with thoughtful tenderness
And now, shall I or not describe a scene!
One wintry eve, the earth covered with snow,
The clouds chased by the winds, the night serene:
Within the prairie in but one house glow
Bright lights of burning lamps of which the flame
Shines on most happy folks. The very light
Trembles with joy so happy it became
When it beheld that truly beauteous sight.
Around, the hearth, on which a glowing fire
Spreads cosy warmth, it sees a hoary head,
A husband and a wife who do not tire
To play with two fine boys, about to bed
To be put by the mother, who a lullaby
Xow sings to them

The great-grandfather and
'The father kiss the boys.

Dark is the sky
Without, bleak winter reigns, cruel, severe!

Within a spin-wheel 's whirled by mother's hand,
The lullaby 's a song of love and cheer.