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Unless the Lord builds the house
Those who build it labor in vain
Unless the Lord watches over the city
The watchman stays awake in vain
It is in vain
That you rise up early
And go late to rest
Eating the bread of anxious toil
For he gives to his beloved sleep
Behold, children are
A heritage from the Lord
The fruit of the womb a reward
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
Are the children of one's youth
Blessed is the man
Who fills his quiver with them!
He shall not be put to shame
When he speaks with his enemies in the gate
