Psalms 127

1 A song for pilgrims going up to Jerusalem. A psalm of Solomon. If the Lord doesn't build the house, the work of the builders is futile. If the Lord doesn't guard the city, the work of the guards is pointless.

Ɔsoroforɔ dwom. Salomo deɛ. Sɛ Awurade ansi ɛdan no a, adansifoɔ no yɛ ho adwuma kwa. Sɛ Awurade ammɔ kuropɔn no ho ban a, awɛmfoɔ no wɛn kwa.

2 It's useless to get up early in the morning and go to work, and stay late into the evening, worrying about earning enough to eat, when the Lord gives rest to those he loves.

Ɔkwa ara na wosɔre anɔpahema na woyɛ adwumaden brɛ kɔsi anadwo, ansa na woanya wʼano aduane. Ɛyɛ kwa, ɛfiri sɛ, wɔn a ɔdɔ wɔn no, ɔma wɔda.

3 Children certainly are a gift from the Lord, for a family is a blessing.

Mmammarima yɛ agyapadeɛ a ɛfiri Awurade hɔ, na mma yɛ akatua a ɛfiri noɔ.

4 Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of a young man.

Mmammarima a wɔwo wɔn mmeranteberɛ mu no te sɛ agyan a ɛhyɛ ɔsraani nsam.

5 Happy is the father who fills his quiver with them! Such fathers will not be embarrassed when they confront their enemies at the city gate.

Nhyira ne onipa a nʼagyan kotokuo ayɛ ma. Wɔn anim rengu ase ɛberɛ a wɔahyia wɔn atamfoɔ wɔ kuro ɛpono ano.