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.
Supplies of Life, with Ease to them,
He on his Saints bestows;
He crowns their Labour with Success,
their Nights with sound Repose.
3 Children, whose Comforts of our Life,
are Presents from the Lord;
He gives a num'rous Race of Heirs,
as Piety's Reward.
4 As Arrows in a Giant's Hand
when marching forth to War,
Ev'n so the Sons of sprightly Youth,
their Parents Safeguard are.
5 Happy the Man whose Quiver's fill'd
with these prevailing Arms;
He needs not fear to meet his Foe,
at Law, or War's Alarms.
|First Line:||We build with fruitless Cost, unless|