The Armorer's Song

Let hammer on anvil ring,
And the forge fire brightly shine;
Let wars rage still,
While I work with a will
At this peaceful trade of mine.

The sword is a weapon to conquer fields;
I honor the man who shakes it:
But naught is the lad who the broad-sword wields
Compared to the lad who makes it.

Clang! Clang! Clang!
Then huzzah for the anvil, the forge, and the sledge!
Huzzah for the sparks that fly!
If I had a cup I would straightway pledge
The armorer—that is I!

Let others of glory sing,
As they struggle in glory's quest.
Let them wave their brands
In their mailéd hands,
While the sword smites shield and crest.

Oh, war is a trade I have not essayed,
Though goodliest frame attends it.
I sing of the one who, when fight is done,
Takes every good sword and mends it.

Clang! Clang! Clang!
Then huzzah for the valiant, the squire, or the knight,
Who loveth the battle-cry!
But here's to the swordsman that maketh them fight,
The armorer—that is I!