Classic Poem

Sweep , Sweep! I cry from street to street,
With wailing loud, to all I meet;
In sorrowing voice and dismal plight,
'Tis still Sweep, Sweep! from morn till night.
Oh! many a frightful risk I've run,
Since first my wretched toil begun;
I've climb'd up many a chimney dark,
Bear witness many a cruel mark!
My limbs are cramp'd, my spirit's gone,
And all unheeded is my moan.
I once could laugh, and sing, and play,
Full jocund, thro' the merry day;
Breathe unconfin'd the air of heaven,
And feel the blessings God had given;
But now all stunted, maim'd, diseas'd,
I wait till I may be releas'd.
Beyond the grave there sure will be
No master hard to torture me;
With tearless eye-and flinty heart,
To act the ruthless tyrant's part.
The secret truth will then be shewn,
And all my silent sufferings known;
And all will find, ev'n hearts of steel,
That little chimney-sweeps can feel.
Oh! once I had a mother dear;
She would have shed the bitter tear,
To see her darling thus degraded,
His ruin'd health — his cheek so faded;
That cheek where she left many a kiss:
Thank God! she has not liv'd for this.
No, she rests in her last calm home,
And thither her poor boy will come.
The world, alas! is all unkind;
There's nought I love to leave behind;
No! there is none to pity me,
And only when I die — I'm free!

Sweep , Sweep! I cry from street to street,
With wailing loud, to all I meet;
In sorrowing voice and dismal plight,
'Tis still Sweep, Sweep! from morn till night.
Oh! many a frightful risk I've run,
Since first my wretched toil begun;
I've climb'd up many a chimney dark,
Bear witness many a cruel mark!
My limbs are cramp'd, my spirit's gone,
And all unheeded is my moan.
I once could laugh, and sing, and play,
Full jocund, thro' the merry day;
Breathe unconfin'd the air of heaven,
And feel the blessings God had given;
But now all stunted, maim'd, diseas'd,
I wait till I may be releas'd.
Beyond the grave there sure will be
No master hard to torture me;
With tearless eye-and flinty heart,
To act the ruthless tyrant's part.
The secret truth will then be shewn,
And all my silent sufferings known;
And all will find, ev'n hearts of steel,
That little chimney-sweeps can feel.
Oh! once I had a mother dear;
She would have shed the bitter tear,
To see her darling thus degraded,
His ruin'd health — his cheek so faded;
That cheek where she left many a kiss:
Thank God! she has not liv'd for this.
No, she rests in her last calm home,
And thither her poor boy will come.
The world, alas! is all unkind;
There's nought I love to leave behind;
No! there is none to pity me,
And only when I die — I'm free!