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1 We build with fruitless toil and cost,
Unless the Lord the pile sustain;
Unless the Lord the city keeps,
The watchman waketh but in vain.
2 In vain we rise before the dawn;
In vain we late to rest repair;
Allow no respite to our toil,
And daily eat the bread of care.
3 Supplies of life, with ease to them,
The Lord to all his saints bestows;
He crowns their labours with success,
Their nights with peace and soft repose.
4 Children, those comforts of our life,
Are presents from the bounteous Lord;
He gives a num'rous race of heirs,
Of piety the sweet reward.
5 As arrows in a giant's hand,
When marching forth, equipp'd for war,
Ev'n so the sons of sprightly youth
Their parents hopeful safeguard are.
5 Happy the man, whose quivers are
Replete with those prevailing arms!
He need not fear to meet his foe,
In strifes of law, or war's alarms.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | We build with fruitless toil and cost |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1789 |
Scripture: |