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.
Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head That curled like a lambs back was shav'd, 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 lock'd up in coffins of black,
And by came an Angel who had a bright key And he open'd 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. Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.