My blade was originally designed in heaven,
But reproduced for me in 1611.
In combat I’ve found, it cuts quite well,
To deliver men from the deepest hell.
In every way I trust my blade,
For by my Commander it was surely made.
Others claim to have made a sword,
And claim that it came from my Lord.
But in their hand they do not feel,
The two edged sword that makes men kneel.
Bathed in blood, and tempered by God,
This Sword of the Spirit, and feet that are shod,
With helmet and shield, my sword is sent,
Oh, the veil is torn and high places rent.
Other swords men bid me take,
Yet in real combat they will break.
These popish swords that invade the land,
They trust the Whore and not the Son of Man.
Take not their sword leavened with rust,
But use God’s writ, and parlay and thrust.
For it wounds the heads of Leviathan still,
Preserved by the Captain from Golgotha’s hill.
So, love the Book and study and kneel,
Bow down and be knighted by Holy Steel!

Author unknown