| The song of the stairs.
Except the Lord build the house, the labor is but lost that build it.
Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
It is but lost labor that yee rise up early, and take no rest, but eat the bread of carefulness: for look to whom it pleaseth him, he giveth it in sleep.
Lo, children and the fruit of the womb are an heritage and gift, that cometh of the Lord: Like as arrows in the hand of a 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. |
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