We Build With Fruitless Toil And Cost


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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.