When my mother died I was very young,



And my father sold me while yet my tongue



Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"



So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.







There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head



That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,



"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare,



You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair."







And so he was quiet, & that very night,



As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!



That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack,



Were all of them locked up in coffins of black;







And by came an Angel who had a bright key,



And he opened the coffins & set them all free;



Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,



And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.







Then naked & white, all their bags left behind,



They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.



And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,



He'd have God for his father & never want joy.







And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark



And got with our bags & our brushes to work.



Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm;



So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.









