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.