Except the Lord build the house, their labour is but lost that build it. Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. It is but lost labour that ye haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness; for so he giveth his beloved sleep.
Lo, children, and the fruit of the womb, are an heritage and gift that cometh of the Lord. Like as the arrows in the hand of the giant, even so are the young children. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them; they shall not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies in the gate.
The coverdale translation edited by W.S. Peterson and Valerie Macys — used with permission.