Winter lay upon the kingdom, Every banner hung in rain. Lords had gathered without answer, Each one reaching for the reign. Then before the church at midnight, Stone and iron split the cold. In the anvil stood a sword blade, Bright as fire And bound in gold. Letters burned along the metal: He who draws this sword shall be Rightful king of all this island, Born to rule by destiny. Barons came with hands like hammers, Knights with pride in every breath. None could move it. None could claim it. Steel remained As still as death. Then a boy Without a kingdom Reached for what He scarcely knew. THE SWORD IN THE STONE! No crown upon his head! THE SWORD IN THE STONE! No army at his tread! He placed his hand Upon the hilt... And drew the blade That day. Arthur came for another weapon, Nothing more was in his mind. Kay stood waiting for his brother, Tournament horns called behind. Arthur saw the sword before him, Set his fingers to the grip. No thunder cracked. No heavens opened. Steel came free Without a slip. Not every lord Would yield. A crown can call A kingdom... But a kingdom Must be sealed. Steel would answer. Blood would follow. Camelot was not yet born. THE SWORD IN THE STONE! The old world falls away! THE SWORD IN THE STONE! A king is named this day! No army made it known. The hand that drew The kingdom's blade Had pulled it From the stone! Raise the sword. Call the banners. Arthur... The king Has come.
