Here's to the farrier's trade - may their anvils ever ring true May the Pritchel and Buffer still find employ And proud strong horses to shoe, brave boys Proud strong horses to shoe
The anvil rang like an old church bell, the forge it roared like a gale And down the wind came a pungent smell that told an immortal tale A tale well known to the black and the bay, to coachmen, carter, and carrier For the smell was the hoof and the burning shoe and the trade was the craft of the farrier
A blue flame leapt from the crackling coals, at its heart was a flame of gold And out of that heart came a red-hot steel in the farrier's tong's firm hold Onto the anvil's face it swept, and a hammer bit into its edge It curved to the farrier's swift hard blows, and it squared to the striker's sledge
And many a draught horse, hack or cob stood fast at the hitching rails While the farrier bent to the fetlock's hair with a mouthful of squarehead nails And offered up the shoe to the waiting foot with a sizzle, a smoke and a smell Pritchel and clench, hammer, clip and quench and file down the clenches well
Though the motor roars out across the world its message of haste or greed Though the horse has gone from the highway side with its danger and noise and speed Yet down at the fence waits an ancient friend that progress will never unseat And while there's a horse, there's a need for shoes, and farriers to tend its feet