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.
3 Supplies of life, with ease to them,
H eon His saints bestows;
He crowns their labours with success,
Their nights with safe repose.