Unless the Lord the house shall build and frame,
In vain the builders toil, their labor lost.
Unless He guards the city, watchmen’s claim
Is empty, though they wake at weary cost.
In vain you rise at dawn, or late abide,
Your bread of toil, for God gives sleep to those
He loves. Lo, children are His gift, His pride,
Like arrows strong, a heritage He chose.
Blessed is the man whose quiver holds them fast,
No shame shall he know when his foes contest.
imaginate.pro 