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 curl'd like a lamb's back, was shav'd: so I said 
``Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when you 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 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.