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 & in soot I sleep. <br /> <br />Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head <br />That curled like a lambs back was shav'd, 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. & that very night. <br />As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight <br />That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack <br />Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black, <br /> <br />And by came an Angel who had a bright key <br />And he open'd the coffins & set 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 & 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 & never want joy. <br /> <br />And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark <br />And got with our bags & our brushes to work. <br />Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & 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-innocence/
