The Chimney Sweeper by: William Blake

Chimney sweeping is a historic profession with a deep and fascinating history. One such piece of that lore is the poem "The Chimney Sweeper" by William Blake. Read a copy of the poem below.

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The Chimney Sweeper by: William Blake

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 curled like a lambs 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

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 all 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.