As we went down to Brandywine
There was a sight to see
A giant of a man with a hammer in his hand
Beneath the old oak tree
And scattered all around there
In fatal disarray
A score of men who would never fight again
Nor travel on the King’s Highway.
We dug his grave, covered him o’er
And sadly wept a tear
And passed the day a ridin’ on our way
Till we met with a musketeer.
He told us of the story of
A brave and angry man
Who undertook the British enemy
With a hammer in his hand.
Make it one for Washington and all his gallent men
And one for the girl that once was mine
Make it one for the darling boy I’ll never see again
And don’t forget the blacksmith of Brandywine!
There lived a man in Chester town
Away from the cannon’s roar
Of manner mild, his a woman and child
No man could ever love more
One day he heard a Tory plot
To waylay Washington
He left his home and family alone
And to the General he did run.
His errand done he journed home
But sorrow there he found,
By British gun his wife and son
Lay still on the cold hard ground
Well the Blacksmith grave his heavy sledge
And gave a practice swing.
They say down the line at Brandywine
You could hear his hammer ring: