XXVII The Chimney Sweeper
Sweep, sweep! sweep, sweep! cries little Jack,
With brush and bag upon his back,
And black from head to foot;
While daily as he goes along,
Sweep, sweep! sweep, sweep! is all his song
Beneath his load of soot.
But then he was not always black:
O no; he once was pretty Jack,
And had a kind papa:
But, silly child! he ran to play,
Too far from home, a long, long way,
And did not ask mamma.
So he was lost, and now must creep
Up chimneys, crying Sweep! sweep! sweep!