Forging the iron of england

Where are now the bones of staunch fabricus?
Wayland open for me the door to the underworld
Art you king in your own right?
Cold iron your ware
Excalibur your pride
So no that harm
Through this threshold may come!

A symbol of craftsmanship,
A consoling image of permanence
Amid the flux and decay of earthly existence
Ye are but faithful treasurers of the lord's wealth
The articiers of spiritual jewels
...And the smiths of celestial weapons