The Chimney Sweeper - Greg Brown

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, and in soot I sleep

There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head

That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved;

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, and that very night

As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!

--

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack

Were all of them locked up in coffins of black

And by came an angel, who had a bright key

And he opened the coffins, and 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 and 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, and never want joy

And so Tom awoke, and we rose in the dark

And got with our bags and our brushes to work

Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:

So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm