The Chimney Sweeper
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 and 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, and that very night,
As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight!
That thousand of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and 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 and set them all free;
Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run,
And wash in a river and shine in the sun.
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