William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
The Chimney SweeperWilliam Blake (17571827)
W
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.
That curl’d like a lamb’s 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.’
As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight!—
That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Jo, Ned and Jack,
Were all of them lock’d up in coffins of black.
And he open’d 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.
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 got with our bags and our brushes to work.
Tho’ the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm:
So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.