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When my mother died I was very young,

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And my father sold me while yet my tongue

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

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So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

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

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That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd, so I said

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

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

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And so he was quiet, and that very night

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

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

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Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black.

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And by came an Angel who had a bright key,

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And he open'd the coffins and set them all free;

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

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And wash in a river, and shine in the sun.

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Then naked and white, all their bags left behind,

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They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind;

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

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

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And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark,

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And got with our bags and our brushes to work.

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

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