Classic Poem

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 asleeping 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.