Except the Lord build the house
They labour in vain that build it
Except the Lord keep the city
The watchman waketh but in vain.
It is vain for you to rise up early
To sit up late
To eat the bread of sorrows
For so he giveth his beloved sleep.
Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord
And the fruit of the womb is his reward.
As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man
So are children of the youth.
Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them
They shall not be ashamed,
But they shall speak
With the enemies in the gate.