"The Sword of Bunker Hill" (1855)
Words by William Ross Wallace
Music by Bernard Covert

1.
He lay upon his dying bed;
His eyes were growing dim,
When with a feeble voice he called
His weeping son to him:
"Weep not, my boy!" the vet'ran said,
"I bow to Heaven's high will  --
But quickly from yon antlers bring
The Sword of Bunker Hill;
But quickly from yon antlers bring
The Sword of Bunker Hill."

2.
The sword was brought, the Soldier's eye
Lit with a sudden flame;
And as he grasped the ancient blade,
He murmured Waren's name:
Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold --
But what is richer still,
I leave you, mark me, mark me now --
The Sword of Bunker Hill;
I leave you, mark me, mark me now --
The Sword of Bunker Hill.

3.
'Twas on that dread immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band,
A Captain raised this blade on me --
I tore it from his hand:
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened freedom's will--
For, boy, the God of freedom blessed
The Sword of Bunker Hill;
For, boy, the God of freedom blessed
The Sword of Bunker Hill."

4.
"O, keep the Sword!" -- his accents broke --
A smile -- and he was dead --
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains; the sword remains --
Its glory growing still --
And twenty millions bless the sire,
And Sword of Bunker Hill;
And twenty millions bless the sire,
And Sword of Bunker Hill.