Except the Lord do build the house,
the builders lose their pain:
Except the Lord the city keep,
the watchmen watch in vain.

2'Tis vain for you to rise betimes,
or late from rest to keep,
To feed on sorrows' bread;
so gives he his beloved sleep.

Lo, children are God's heritage,
the womb's fruit his reward.
The sons of youth as arrows are,
for strong men's hands prepar'd.

O happy is the man that hath
his quiver fill'd with those;
They unashamed in the gate
shall speak unto their foes.