When my mother died I was very young, <br /> And my father sold me while yet my tongue <br /> Could scarcely cry 'Weep! weep! weep! weep!' <br /> So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. <br /> <br /> There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, <br /> That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved; so I said, <br /> 'Hush, Tom! never mind it, for, when your head's bare, <br /> You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.' <br /> <br /> And so he was quiet, and that very night, <br /> As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight! -- <br /> That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, <br /> Were all of them locked up in coffins of black. <br /> <br /> And by came an angel, who had a bright key, <br /> And he opened the coffins, and let them all free; <br /> Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing, they run, <br /> And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. <br /> <br /> Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, <br /> They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind; <br /> And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, <br /> He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. <br /> <br /> And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark, <br /> And got with our bags and our brushes to work. <br /> Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm: <br /> So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-chimney-sweeper-when-my-mother-died-i-was-very-young/
