1 We build with fruitless cost, unless
the Lord the pile sustain
Unless the Lord the city keep
the watchman wakes in vain.
2 In vain we rise before the day,
and late to rest repair,
Allow no respite to our toil,
and eat the bread of care.
3 Supplies of life, with ease to them,
he on his saints bestows;
He crowns their labor with success,
their nights with sound repose.
4 Children, those comforts of our life,
are presents from the Lord;
He gives a num'rous race of heirs,
as piety's reward.
5 As arrows in a giant's hand,
when marching forth to war,
E'en so the sons of sprightly youth
their parents' safeguard are.
6 Happy the man whose quiver's filled
with these prevailing arms;
He needs not fear to meet his foe
at law, or war's alarms.