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Unless the Lord the house shall build, |
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The weary builders toil in vain; |
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Unless the Lord the city shield, |
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The guards a useless watch maintain. |
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In vain you rise ere morning break, |
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And late your nightly vigils keep, |
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And weary days of toil partake; |
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For God's beloved there is sleep. |
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Lo, children are the gift of God, |
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And sons the blessing he commands; |
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These whom in youthful days bestowed, |
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Are like the shafts in warrior's hands. |
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And happy they whose quivers bear |
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Full store of arrows such as these; |
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They in the gate are free from fear, |
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And boldly face their enemies. |