At the point when my mom kicked the bucket I was extremely youthful, Also, my dad sold me while yet my tongue Could barely cry ” ‘sob! ‘sob! ‘sob! ‘sob!” check out www.chimneysweepliverpool.co.uk
So your smokestacks I clear and in residue I rest.
There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That twisted like a sheep’s back, was shaved, so I stated,
“Quiet, Tom! don’t bother it, for when your head’s uncovered,
You realize that the ash can’t ruin your white hair.”
Thus he was calm, and that very night,
As Tom was a-dozing he had such a sight!
That a huge number of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack,
Were every one of them secured up boxes of dark;
Also, by came an Angel who had a splendid key,
Furthermore, he opened the boxes and set them all free;
At that point down a green plain, jumping, snickering they run,
Furthermore, wash in a stream and sparkle in the Sun.
At that point bare and white, every one of their sacks abandoned,
They ascend upon mists, and game in the wind.
Also, the Angel told Tom, on the off chance that he’d be a decent kid,
He’d have God for his dad and never need delight.
Thus Tom arose; and we ascended oblivious
Also, got with our packs and our brushes to work.
Despite the fact that the morning was chilly, Tom was cheerful and warm;
So if all do their obligation, they require not fear hurt.