Unless the Lord the house shall build,
The wea­ry build­ers toil in vain;
Unless the Lord the ci­ty shield,
The guards a use­less watch main­tain.

In vain you rise ere morn­ing break,
And late your night­ly vi­gils keep,
And of the bread of toil par­take;
God gives to His be­lovè­d sleep.

Lo, child­ren are a great re­ward,
A gift from God in ve­ry truth;
With ar­rows is his qui­ver stored
Who joys in child­ren of his youth.

And blest the man whose age is cheered
By stal­wart sons and daugh­ters fair;
No ene­mies by him are feared,
No lack of love, no want of care.