P Hately Waddell
Folk are but frute-stoks - the gude weel plantit an' heartsome; the ill ne'er plantit ava, whase frute is but stoure, an' their cleedin stibble: the LORD kens them baith.
[By wha 's no said.]
BLYTHE may man be, wha airts-na his gate by the guidin o' the godlowse; an' wha stans-na i' the road o' wrang-doers; an' wha louts-na at the down-sittin o' lowse jaukers.
2 Bot wi' the law o' the LORD is his hail heart's-gree; an' owre that rede o' his, day an' night, sigheth he.
3 For he sal be the frute-stok plantit by the watir-rins, that frutes ay weel in his ain frute saison, an' his vera blade blights-na, bot a' the growthe he maks luckens.
4 Siclike war ne'er the godlowse; bot like caff are they a', that the win' 's ay strewin.
5 Syne sae, at the rightin, sal the godlowse ne'er stan'; nor wrangdoers win ben till the gath'ran o' the rightous.
6 For the LORD kens weel the gate o' the rightous; bot the gate o' the godlowse sal dwinnle.
David's ain right till be King, an' Chryst's forby; a' ither kings maun thole an' lout.
[By wha 's no said here.]
WHATFOR fey the far-aff folk, an' the frem folk trew ane ydil thing?
2 Kings o' the yirth stan' up, an' righters tak thought thegither; again the LORD, an' again his Chrystit ane, sayan;
3 Lat's rive their thirlbans syndry, an' fling atowre their tows frae us!
4 Wha sits intil the lift sal laugh; the Laird o' the lan' sal lightlie them a'.
5 Syne sal he bost them in his wuth, an' fley them in his sair mislooin, sayan;
6 I hae setten my king, for a', ontil my halie height o' Zioun.
7 I sal e'en gar yo trew the redden-right: Quo' the LORD until me, My ain son are ye, this day hae I begotten thee.
8 Seek ye frae me, an' I sal gie till thee the far-aff folk in fee, an' the yondermaist neuks o' the warld till yer ain ha'din.
9 Ye sal thring them wi' a gad o' airn; ye sal ding them till roons, like the shaird-makar's gowpin.
10 Be wyss than, O ye kings; tak tent, ye righters o' the warld:
11 Lout ye to the LORD wi' dread; an' gin ye bost, lat it be wi' slakkens.
12 Swaif ye the Son, that he takna wuth; an' ye tine yer ain gate, gin his lowe be kennl'd but a kennin.
O blythe may they a' be, wha lippen till himsel alane!
A faither's heart-break: the warst o' a' heart-breaks moun be bruikit: the LORD's a lown hap for a'.
A dree-sang o' David's, whan he quat the gate afore his ain son Absh'lom.
LORD, how fiend-folk thrang about me; mony again me set themsels roun.
2 Quo' mony o' my saul, Thar's nae stay for him wi' God: Selah.
3 Bot yerlane, O LORD, are out-owre me a'; my loffliheid, an' the uphauder o' my croun.
4 I sought till the LORD, I skreigh't; an' he spak till mysel, frae the height o' his haliness: Selah.
5 I sal e'en lay me high an' sleep; I sal wauken or lang, for the LORD uphaudeth me.
6 Nane sal I fear frae thousans o' the folk, wha owre-set themsels I again me, rinket roun.
7 Up, LORD, saif me, O my God: for yerlane ontil the chafts hae dang my faes; the teeth o' the godlowse yerlane gar'd dinnie.
8 Heal-ha'din 's wi' the LORD himlane; yer blythe-bid 's on yer folk for evir: Selah!
God's ain may lippen till himlane, an' be lown eneugh.
Till the sang-maister on Neginoth: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
SPEAK hame till me, God o' my rightousness; speak hame i' my schraighan. Ye hae lows'd me or now frae haud: be gude till me syne, an' tent my bidden.
2 How lang, ye sons o' the carl, sal my gude's gree be lightlied an ang yo? Will ye ay be fain o' ydilheid? Will ye spier eftir lies for evir? Selah.
3 Bot weet ye weel, the LORD sets-by wha likes himsel: the LORD will hearken whan I skreigh until him.
4 Fyke an ye will, bot steer-na by: threep wi' your hearts on yer beds, an' be whush: Selah.
5 Offrans mak ye o' rightousness, an' lippen yerlanes wi' the LORD.
6 Wha will schaw us aught gude, quo' mony an' mae: the light o' yer leuks, O LORD, gar lift upon us for ay!
7 I' my heart ye hae glen me mair gree, nor e'er whan their corn an' their wine war rife.
8 I sal baith lay me down, an' lye fu' lown; for yerlane, O LORD, hauds me livin sikker.
God tholes ill a' liean, bluidy folk; an' David wytes them i' the name o' God: wha do weel sal be blythe, an' win ben afore God.
Till the sang-maister on Nehiloth: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
HEARKEN till my croon, O LORD, tak tent till my sighan.
2 Hearken till the sugh o' my schraighan, my King an' my God; for till yerlane I sen' hame my bidden.
3 At mornin ere, O LORD, ye sal hear my cry: at mornin ere I sal straught me till thee, an' sal bide yer kennin.
4 For ye are nae God wha likes the wrang; wha godlowse is, wi' thee sal hae nae bydan.
5 Wha roose themsels, sal ne'er stan' frontin thee; a' doers o' wrang, ye mislo'e them utterlie.
6 Liean loons, ye thring them down; the bluidy an' the sliddery carl the LORD ne'er tholes ava.
7 Bot mysel till yer hous will ben, i' the feck o' yer ain gude-gree; an' beck me laigh at yer halie howf, wi' dread o' thee.
8 Weise me, O LORD, i' yer ain right gates; for my ill-willers' will, straught ye yer gate afore me.
9 For, i' their mouthe thar's nae sikker sugh; their wame's but the howff o' ill; their craig's but a gapin heugh; wi' their tongue, they but ettle a lie.
10 Wyte, wyte them sair, O God: schute them owre i' their ain thought-takins; ding them by i' their ain heigh gates: for they steer'd till win up again thee.
11 Bot blythe be they a', wha lippen yerlane; lat them lilt evir mair, for ye fen' them weel; lat them fyke an' be fain in thee, wha lo'e thy name.
12 For yerlane, O LORD, sal mak blythe the rightous; wi' gudeness ye sal theek them owre, as wi' ane schild.
David's feckless fa', an' threep o' dule wi' God: he warsles through.
Till the sang-maister on Neginoth on Sheminith: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
WYTE me na sae sair, O LORD, i' yer angir; an' ding me na by, i' yer bleezan torne.
2 Be gude till me, LORD, for but feckless am I; heal me, O LORD, for my banes are shukken.
3 My saul is e'en uncolie shukken: bot yersel, O LORD, how lang?
4 Hereawa, LORD, an' redd-but my saul; O heal ye me, for yer pitie's sake.
5 For nane intil dead sal hae min' o' thee: wha intil his lang hame sal laud thee mair?
6 Forfoch'en am I wi' my sighan; wi' tears a' night I hae drookit my bed; my bink I hae soom'd wi' my greetan.
7 Mine ee wears awa wi' tene; it swaks afore a' my ill-willers.
8 Awa frae me, a' ye warkers o' mischieff; for the LORD will hearken the sugh o' my sabbin.
9 The LORD, he will hearken my threep; the LORD will tak hame my bidden.
1O Scham't sal they be an' sair fash't, ilk ane o' my faes: hame sal they gae, an' scham't sal they be, in a gliffie!
An unco facht wi' ill-speakers; a waur facht wi' ill-doers: bot the LORD's abune a', an' wairs their mischeiff on their ain shouthirs.
Shiggaioun o' David: whilk he sang till the LORD, fornenst the ill tongue o' Cush the Benjamite.
O LORD my God, till yerlane maun I lippen: saif me frae a' that seek eftir me, an' redd me but.
2 That he glaum-na my life like a lyoun; rivan 't, an' nae winnin-by.
3 O LORD my God, gin I hae dune siclike; gin thar 's ought o' mischieff i' my han's:
4 Gin I hae wrought ill till my frienlie fiere; or fleesh'd my ill-willers for greed:
5 Lat the fien-loon syne owrespang my saul; baith fang an' fling my life till the yird, an' my gudeliheid straik i' the stoure: Selah.
6 Up, O LORD, i' yer angir; redd my ill-willers by, i' yer wuth: an' steer for me till the rightin ye ettled, wi' yer ain word o' mouthe.
7 Syne sal the folk a' rink thee roun'; an' for their sakes, hame again on hie!
8 The LOR himlane sal right-recht the folk: right me, O LORD, as my rightousness maun be, an' the singleness o' my thoughts abune me.
9 O gin the ill o' ill-doers war dune; bot furder ye the right: an' leuk weel till baith heart an' lisks, like a rightous God.
1O I shaltir me a' wi' God, wha saifs the upright in heart.
11 God himlane 's the rightous rechter; an' God ill-tholes the hail day.
12 An the ill-doer turn-na, the LORD maun straik his swurd; he maun stent his bow, an' mak a' sikker:
13 The graith o' dead he maun schupe for himsel; his flanes o' lowe he has wrought a'ready.
14 Leuk syne till the godlowse: he hoves wi' nocht; he raxes wi' pyne; he 's made lighter o' a lie.
15 He howks a hole, an' braids it weel; bot he coups i' the sheugh he made for anither.
16 Hame on his head comes a' his fash; an' down on his pow his ain ill-doen.
17 I maun laud the LORD as his rightousness is; an' lilt till the name o' the LORD, wha's heigh abune ony.
The nameliheid o' God's abune lift an' lan'; an' his lo'esome luve till his hinmost creatur's ayont tellin.
Till the sang-maister on Gittith: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
O LORD, Laird o' us a', how LORDlie 's thy name atowre a' the yirth; wha setten haist thy nameliheid abune the hevins.
2 Frae bairnies' mouthes an' weanies fine, ye hae ettled might again a' yer faes; that the wrangdoer baith an' wha rights himsel, ye may whush them ane wi' anither.
3 Gin I leuk till thy lift, that fingir-wark o' thine; till the mune an' the starn ye hae set sae sikker:
4 What's man, quo' I, that ye bear him in min'; or ane o' yird's bairns, ye suld mak him niebor?
5 Yet ye thol'd him but a thought frae God; ye hae theekit him roun' wi' gudeliheid an' gree:
6 Ye hae gien till himsel maistership an' a' owre yer ain han's warks; ye hae putten a'-thing laigh aneth his feet.
7 Beasties sma' an' owsen grit thegither; aye, an' the field-gaen deer forby:
8 The flier i' the lift an' the soomer i' the sea, an' a' that gaes ben thro' the troghs o' the sea.
9 O LORD, Laird o' us a', how heigh owre a' the yirth 's that name o' thine!
The ill-deedie carl has his ain time, bot he stachers an' fa's or the end be: the LORD neither stachers nor fa's; an' the feckless may lippen till himlane sikkerlie: David has lauded him loud an' lang, an' sal yet laud him louder an' langer.
Till the sang-maister on Muth-labben: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
I MAUN laud, O LORD, wi' my hail heart; I maun tell o' a' thy wonner-warks.
2 Fu' blythe an' fain sal I be in thee; I sal lilt till thy name, Thou Heighest o' a'.
3 Whan my ill-willers turn the gate hame, they sal stacher an' dwinnle afore thee.
4 For my right ye wrought out, an' ye rightit me; ye sat on the thron, right-rechtin weel.
5 Ye wytit the folk; ye wastit the wicket; their name ye dight out for evir an' ay.
6 O ill-will'd man, surely swurd-wark's by for evir: hail towns ye hae rutet frae the yird; themsels an' a' min' o' them 's dwafflet.
7 Bot the LORD himlane bides on evir mair; for right-rechtin ay, has he ettled his thron.
8 An' the warld he sal right-recht himsel intil rightousness; he sal redd amang the hethen wi' a' maner o' right.
9 An' the LORD sal be stoop till the feckless; a braw heigh stoop i' the time o' stretts.
1O An' a' that ken thy name sal betak themsels till thee; for ye ne'er mislippen'd nane, wha spier'd for yersel, O LORD.
11 Lilt ye till the LORD, wha bides ontil Zioun; furth afore the folk wi' his wonner-warks a'.
12 For an' he spiel for blude, he'll hae min' o' them; the sighan o' the puir he will ne'er mislippen.
13 Hae pitie on me, LORD; leuk weel till the stoor I dree frae my faes; yersel, wha can rax me frae the yetts o' dead.
14 That I may lilt a' thy praise, i' the yetts o' the dochter o' Zioun: fu' blythe sal I be i' thy heal-ha'din, than.
15 The folk hae gaen down i' the sheugh they made; i' the girn they happit, is their ain fit fankit.
16 The LORD is weel kent by the rightin he's wrought : by his ain han's wark, is the ill-doer grippet: Higgaioun, Selah!
17 Ill-doers sal gang till the howff o' dead; an' frem folk a', wha think nane o' God.
18 For the feckless puir sal nane ay fa' atowre; nor the langsome leuk o' the down-dang mislippen for evir.
19 Up, LORD; let-na carls hae the gree: lat hethen folk be weel sortit afore ye.
2O Fley them, O LORD; gar the hethen ken they're but men: Selah.
The yird-born carl has baith a heigh head an' a heavy han'; kens little, an' cares less: bot the LORD rights a', baith puir an' faitherless, wha lippen till himsel.
[By wha 's no said.]
WHATFOR, O LORD, stan' ye atowre; an' hap yo sae close in times o' strett?
2 The ill-doer in his haughtiness herries the puir: Lat them be fankit a' i' the thoughts o' their ain thinkin.
3 For the ill-doer's fain till his heart's content, an' blythe-bids the warl's-worm the LORD ay hates.
4 The ill man in his haughtiness boost-na to care: nae God ava intil ane o' his thoughts.
5 Wearisome ay are a' gates o' his: owre heigh fornenst him are thy right-rechtins a': wha fash wi' him, he wheefles them by.
6 Quo' he till himsel, I sal ne'er be steer'd; frae ae kithgettin till anither, siclike 's mysel are ne'er the waur.
7 His gab 's fu' o' swearin, an' lies, an' lowseness; ben aneth his tongue 's but labor an' kiaugh.
8 He sits i' the neuks o' the towns; i' the lown neuks he fells the saikless; his een ay glaum on the puir.
9 He taigles in howff like some lyoun in his den; he taigles for till fang the feckless; an' the feckless he fangs, whan he sweels him i' his net.
1O An' he louts; he cow'rs fu' laigh; syne dings the feckless wi' his mighty bakspangs.
11 Quo' he till himsel, God has nae min': he has happit his face; he sal ne'er leuk mair.
12 Bot rise, LORD God: rax up yer han'; forget-na the feckless.
13 Whatfor suld the ill man light-lie God? He says till himsel, Ye'll ne'er spier mair.
14 Ye hae seen 't yersel; for yersel can see baith cark an' care, till tak a' i' yer han'. Till yersel the puir man leuks an' lippens; the frien' o' the faitherless yerlane are Thou.
15 Flinder ye the arm o' the ill-doen, an' eke o' the ill-heartit man; an' ripe out his wrang, till ye fin' nae mair.
16 The LORD is King for evir an' ay: the hethen maun dwinnle frae aff his lan'.
17 Ye hae hearken'd till the chirm o' the puir, O LORD: their hearts ye maun heal; ye maun lout yer lug:
18 Till right the faitherless an' the feckless; that yird-born loons nae langer gang on till fley them a'.
Sic biddens o' David's maun feckly be taen as ettled again the Philistins, an' a' sic barmeys o' the realm, as said has been.
Nae need till flie frae the ill-heartit loon: the LORD canna mislippen his ain.
Till the sang-maister: ane o' David's.
LIPPEN till the LORD: whatfor cry ye till my saul, Awa to yer craig like a bird!
2 For leuk, the ill-deedie stent the bow; their flane on the string they straught; till ding the aefauld in heart, hidlins?
3 An the grundin gang, what mair can the leal man do?
4 The LORD's intil his halie howff; the LORD, his thron 's i' the lift: his een can see, his vera winkers try, yird's bairns.
5 The LORD wales weel the rightous; bot the ill-deedie man, an' wha likes mischieff, his saul abides-na.
6 He sal toom on ill-doers a bleezan spate; lowe, an' brunstane, an' the stoor o' storms: a stoupfu' o' their ain.
7 For the rightous LORD likes weel a' rightousness; his een tak tent o' the right.
David's dule for the dearth o' honest folk; bot the LORD will saif his ain frae lies an' jeerin.
Till the sang-maister on Sheminith: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
SAIF us, LORD, for the gude man gangs; for leal folk dwinnle 'mang the bairns o' yird.
2 Fausets they crack, ilk man till his niebor; wi' fraisin gabs, an' wi' twasome hearts, they clash an' claiver.
3 The LORD sal sned aff a' fraisin lips, an' the tongue that cracks sae unco crousely:
4 Wha say, Wi' our tongue we sal maister a'; our lips are our ain, wha 's laird owre us?
5 For the tholin o' the feckless, for the sighan o' the puir, now maun I up, quo' the LORD: I sal steek them baith lown, frae him that wad jeer at ane o' them.
6 The words o' the LORD are weel-dight words: siller dight in a kiln o' clay; seven times dightit.
7 Yerlane, O LORD, sal waird them weel, for evir an' ay, frae the folk o' this kith-gettin.
8 On ilka han' ill-doers gang, whan the draigs o' yird are bunemaist.
The LORD's like till lose sight o' David; bot David maun ne'er lose sight o' the LORD.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
HOW lang, O LORD? Will ye mind me nae mair? How lang will ye hap yer face frae me?
2 How lang tak thought i' my saul maun I, wi' dule i' my heart daily? How lang sal my ill-willer rax abune me?
3 Tak tent an' hearken till me, LORD my God; enlighten my een, that I sleep-na the sleep o' dead:
4 That my ill-willer say-na, I hae waur'd him now! or my faes be fain an I be shukken.
5 Bot I'se lippen me a' till yer ain gude-gree, my heart sal be blythe i' yer ain heal-ha'din.
6 Na, I sal e'en gang lilt till the LORD; for he's wrought a' nieborlie for me.
The loons o' the lan' are an ill-doen, godlowse core: bot the LORD will fesh hame again a' that are tint, till Zioun.
Till the sang-maister: ane o' David's.
QUO' the gowk till himsel, Thar's nae God. Far-gane are they a'; wrang-doers are they haililie; no ane o' them a' does weel.
2 The LORD frae the lift leukit owre on the bairns o' yird, till see gin ony wyss war, spierin for God.
3 Bot it was bakgane a' wi' them; heart-holed war they a': no ane o' them a' wrought right; no, an it war-na ane.
4 Ken they na gude, thae warkers o' ydilheid? wha eat up my folk as they eat bread, an' spier ne'er for the LORD.
5 Thar dree'd they syne a dreadfu' dread; for thar's God wi' the hail kith o' the rightous.
6 Ye hae lightlied the thought-takin o' the needie; bot the LORD himsel was his tryst.
7 O wha sal rax yont frae Zioun heal-makin till Israel a'? Whan the LORD sal bring hame again them that 's in ban' o' his peopil, blythe syne sal Jakob be, an' Israel sal be fain!
Wha sal bide lawn an' lang i' the hous o' the LORD.
Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
LORD, wha sal bide i' that howff o' thine? or wha be lown on yer halie height?
2 Wha gangs ay straught; an' wha does ay right; an' wha speaks frae his heart right sikkerlie:
3 Wha double-deals nane wi' his tongue; wha warks nae ill till his frien'; nor tholes nae skaithe on his niebor:
4 In whase een the little worth are lightlied eneugh, bot whasae fear the LORD he likes fu' weel; wha wears till his frien' an' steers-na:
5 His siller wha sets-na till gather gear; nor nae fee will he tak on the saikless loon: wha siclike does sal ne'er be steer'd, frae the height o' the LORD, for evir.
God's ain are brawlie aff, an' fu' weel contentit.
Michtam o' David's.
WAIRD me weel, O God, for I lippen till yerlane.
2 Ye hae said until the LORD, My LORD, ye 're a' my ain; I hae nought that's gude, abune yersel.
3 For sants i' the lan', themsels an' the best; my pleasur's a' amang them.
4 Mair dule sal they hae, wha mel wi' ony ither: I sal neither toom till them their williewaughts o' bluid no, nor lift their vera names intil my mouthe.
5 The LORD himsel 's the fow o' my ha'din an' my caup; my luck yerlane hae lucken'd.
6 The lines hae fa'n till me in unco blythesome bits; na, the ha'din I hae fa'n 's unco braw.
7 I maun blythe-bid the LORD, wha gies me wyss rede; an' my lisk, night by night, hauds me ay learnin.
8 The LORD evirmair hae I set fornenst mysel: for he's at my right han', I sal ne'er be sair steerit.
9 Wharthro' my heart 's fu' fain, an' my gudeliheid fu' blythe is: na, my vera bouk itsel bides in tryst.
1O For my saul ye winna lea' i' the lang hame o' dead; ye winna gie yer dearest ane till see the sheugh o' dule.
11 Yersel sal gar me ken the vera gate o' life: rowth o' joies afore thy face is; pleasurs thrang at thy right han' evir mair.
Warld's weans hae their ain luck: David, wi' a clean heart, wad fainer hae the LORD: the LORD kens, an' will hearken till his bidden.
Ane Heart's-bode o' David's.
HEARKEN, O LORD, till the right; tak tent till my threep; lout yer lug till my bidden, that frae nae fause lips wins but till thee.
2 Frae fornenst yersel, lat my rightin come; an' yer een, lat them leuk what 's straught.
3 Ye hae tried my heart; ye hae sought a' night: ye hae ripet me thro'; bot ye fan' naething. I thought wi' mysel; bot my mouthe ne'er fautit.
4 For the warks o' man; by the word o' yer lips, I hae wairded me weel frae gates o' the wilfu' waster.
5 Haud up my gates i' yer ain right roads, that my fitsteds gang-na a-gley.
6 I hae cry'd till yersel, for ye'll hear me, O God: lout me yer lug; hearken till my yammir.
7 Furth wi' yer ain gude-gree, yersel wha saifs wi' yer ain right han' a' wha lippen till yerlane, frae heigh gain-stan'ers.
8 Waird me like the sight o' the ee; hap me i' the schadowe o' yer wings:
9 Frae ill-doers' face, wha wrang me sair; frae ill-willers o' my life, rinket roun an' roun me.
1O They're theekit about wi' their ain taugh; wi' their mouthe they can crack fu' crousely.
11 Our gates, even now, they hae fankit roun; their een they hae loutit fu' laigh on the lan':
12 Like some lyoun are they, that's fain till rive; an' like lyoun's whalp, that bides i' the bole.
13 Up, LORD; win forrit afore him; ding him down: rax but my saul frae the ill-deedie man, that swurd o' thine:
14 Frae loons o' yer loof, O LORD; frae this warl's wights, whase luck's i' their life; an' whase wame ye hae stegh't wi' yer happit gear: they hae weans at will; an' their owrecome forby, they mak-guid till their bairns.
15 Bot in right, mylane, I sal see yer face; fu'filled sal I be, whan I wauk', wi' yer ain likeness.
The LORD kens whan, wi' a bleeze frae the lift, till set his ain folk free frae a' that wad steer them.
Till the sang-maister, till ser' the LORD: ane o' David's; whan he spak till the LORD ilk word o' this sang, i' the day the LORD redd him out frae the han' o' his ill-willers a', an' eke frae the han' o' Saul: an' quo' he-
O LORD, my strenth, but I lo'e ye weel!
2 The LORD my rock, my hainin-towir, an' my to-fa': my God, my craig; I maun lippen till himlane: my schild, the horn o' my heal-makin, an' my heigh-ha'.
3 I lilted fu' loud till the LORD; an' frae ill-willers a' I was setten free.
4 The dules o' dead dush'd me; an' spates o' mischieff fley'd me sair:
5 Dules o' the lang-hame fankit me about; girns o' dead war unco nar.
6 I' my strett o' stretts I scraigh't till the LORD; till God, my ain God, I sighet fu' sair. He hearken'd my scraigh, frae his halie howff, my bidden wan ben afore him, it wan till his vera lugs.
7 The yirth syne dinnl't, an' sheuk; the laighest neuks o' the hills trimml't an' steer'd, for He was angrie.
8 Reek raise in his angir, an' lowe licket afore him; coals kennl'd at his on-come:
9 An' he loutit the lift an' wan down; an mirk was aneth his feet:
1O An' he canter'd on a cherub, an' he flew; an' he raiket on the wings o' the win':
11 An' mirk he made a' for his howff about him; mirk o' spates, an' cluds o' the carrie.
12 Frae the light was afore him, his cluds wan awa; wi' hailstanes, an' wi' flaughts o' fire.
13 An' the LORD reel'd alang the lift; the Heighest lat his skreigh win but: hailstanes an' flaughts o' fire.
14 An' he lowsit his flanes, an' he sperfl't them; bleeze on bleeze, an' he dang them.
15 Syne war the wames o' the watirs seen, an' the growf o' the warld unhappit was; at sic wytan o yer ain, O LORD; at the gluff o' the win' o' thine angir.
16 He rax't frae abune, he claught me; he harl'd me atowre frae a warld o' watirs:
17 He redd me frae my strang ill-willer, an' frae a' that wiss'd me ill; wha starker war nor me.
18 Me they o'er-gaed i' the day o' my down-gaen; bot the LORD was an out-gate till me.
19 An' he brought me atowre intil room; he redd me fu' right, for he liket me weel.
2O The LORD quat me even wi' my ain even-doen, an' contentit me weel for the cleanness o' my han's.
21 For I tentit ay sikker the gates o' the LORD; an' was nae ill-ganger frae my God:
22 For his right-rechtins a' war afore me; an' his biddens frae me I ne'er pat awa:
23 I was aefauld ay wi' himsel; an wairded me weel frae my ain wrang-doen:
24 An' the LORD quat me right for my rightousness; for the cleanness o' my han's in his een.
25 Wi' the nieborlie man ye can be nieborlie, LORD; wi' the aefauld man, aefauld:
26 Wi' the weel-wushen man ye can sine yer han's; wi' the thrawart carl ye can haud yer ain:
27 For down-dang folk yersel can saif; bot een owre heigh, ye can baise them a'.
28 For that light o' mine yerlane gar'd kennle; the LORD my God gar'd my mirkness lowe:
29 For, wi' yerlane, I raiket thro' a byke; an' wi my God, I o'erlap a wa'.
30 For God, his gate its aefauld; the word o' the LORD, it 's pruif; a schild is he ay, till a' that lippen till himlane.
31 For wha can be Gude, an it be-na the LORD? or wha a stieve craig, an it be-na our ain God?
32 It's God himlane wha graiths me wi' might, an' straughts me fu' sikker the gate till gang:
33 Evenin my feet like the cloots o' the rae, an' stanan me stieve on my heighest roddins:
34 Ettlin my han's for facht, till ane airn-bow is flinder'd i' my arms.
35 An' the schild o' yer heal ha'din ye hae gien till me; an' yer right han' has uphauden me; an' yer tholin made me unco great.
36 My gate ye hae braided aneth me, that my fitsteds suld ne'er gae by.
37 I sal o'ertak my ill-willers; I sal fang them firm; I sal ne'er seek hame, till it 's by wi' them.
38 I sal thring them thro', an' they sal ne'er man till rise, they sal gae down aneth my feet, whar I stan'.
39 For ye graith'd me wi' might for the stour; my gain-stan'ers a' ye hae whaml't aneth me.
40 An' my faes ye 'gien me by the hals; my ill-willers eke, I hae sned them aff.
41 They sought, bot nae frien' was thar; till the LORD they sought, bot he mindet them nane.
42 Syne I dang them like stoure afore the win'; like glaur ontil the heighroad, flang I them by.
43 Ye hae redd me frae the chauner a' the folk; ye hae setten me atowre the hethen; folk that I kent-na sal be loons o' mine.
44 Wi' loutit lags sal they hearken till me; the sons o' the fremit sal kiss my caup.
45 The gangrel gang hae thower awa; an' shukken wi dread frae their benmaist ha'dins.
46 The LORD lives! an' blythe be my ha'din-height; heigh be the God o' my heal-makin:
47 The God wha wracks a' right for me, an' thirls the folk aneth my bidden:
48 Wha redds me atowre frae my ill-willers a': na, ye hae liftit me heigh abune my gain-stan'ers; frae the ill-deedie carl, ye hae claught me awa.
49 Wharthro', amang the folk, I maun laud yerlane; an' lilt until thy name, O LORD:
50 Wha ettles sic health for his King; an' sic nieborlie gree for his Chrystit: for David, an' for his outcome, for evir an' ay.
God's Lift an' God's Law: what David sees intil them baith, an' kens; what mony might see forby, an they leuk wi' his een.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
THE hevins furth-tellin are the 'gudeliheid o' God; the hail lift furth-schawin is his ain han's-doen.
2 Ae day tells till anither day word; an' night till her niebor night gars ken.
3 Thar's neither tongue nor tellin, whar their sugh is nocht heard
4 Their airt has gaen furth owre the hail yirth; an' their words till the sned-end o' the warld. He ettled amang them a shielin for the sun:
5 An' he, like a bridegrom, gangs but frae his chaumir; blythe, as ane giant is, till rin his rink dune.
6 His gate is frae the ae lift's end, an' his rink till the ither; an' nought is can happit be, frae that lowan light o' his.
7 The redden o' the LORD right thro-gaen is, wauk'nin the saul: the truth-tryst o' the LORD right sikker is, makin wyss the wean-like.
B The visitins o' the LORD right-recht are, makin the heart fu' fain: the bidden o' the LORD right soun' is, enlight'nin the een.
9 The dread-thought o' the LORD right healsome is, abydan for evir: the rightins o' the LORD are trew, an' rightous ane wi' anither.
10 Mair till he langit for nor gowd; aye, nor meikle fine gowd: sweetir eke nor hynie, an' the sweet dreipin kaims.
11 Thy servan, als, by them weel-wairned is; an' wi' tentin o' them sikkerlie, comes unco gear.
12 Bot wha weel can weet folk's ain mislearins? Quhyt ye me frae benmaisc blains.
13 Haud bak thy servan eke, frae a' heigh gangers: lat them ne'er hae their will owre me.
14 Syne sal I be aefauld; an' syne sal I be saikless, frae nae end o' misguidin.
15 Lat the words o' my mouthe, an' the thought o' my heart, be for pleasur i' yer sight, O LORD, my strenth an' my hame-bringer.
What God maun do for his Chrystit: how blythe sal his folk be syne.
Till the sang-maister ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
THE LORD hear ye, i' the day o' dule; the name o' the God o' Jakob fen' ye;
2 Sen' yet might frae his ain halie stedd; an' turder ye fair frae Zioun:
3 Keep yer God's-gifts a' i' his min'; an' seip yer brunt-offrans: Selah.
4 Gie ye e'en 's yer ain heart wad hae; an' yer thoughts, bring them a' till bearin.
5 Blythe sal we lilt i' yer heal-ha'din syne; an' i' our God's name haud heigh our banners. The LORD fu'fill yer heart's-biddens a'.
6 Now ken I fu' weel, the LORD has min' o' his Chrystit; he sal hearken him hame frae his halie hevin; wi' a' the might o' his ain right han', he sal haud him sikker.
7 Some lippen till sleds, an' some till staigs: bot we maun hae min' o' the name o' the LORD our God, for evir.
B They sal be cruckit, an' fa'; bot we sal be straught, an' stan'.
9 The LORD hand a' fu' heal; an' the King hear us ay, whan we ca'.
Blythe may the King be, whase uphauder is the LORD: his ill-willers a' sal be scowther'd afore him.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
LORD, i' yer might may the King be blythe; i' yer ain heal-ha'din how blythe may he be.
2 A' his heart could seek, ye hae wair'd on himsel; till the bidden o' his lips ye ne'er said na: Selah.
3 For his thoughts ye o'er-gang wi' gifts o' gude; ye hae rax't on his head a crown o' gowd.
4 Till live, was a' he sought frae thee; lee-lang days ye hae wair'd on him, for evir an' ay.
5 Sae gran 's his gudeliheid i' thy; gude-gree; laud an' lawtie baith ye hae even'd on his head.
6 Blythe-biddens for ay ye hae ettled on him; fu' blythe hae ye made him wi' the blink o' yer ee.
7 For the King lippens a' till the LORD; an' by the nieborlie gree o' the Heighest, he sal ne'er be steer'd awa.
8 Yer han' sal light on a' yer ill-willers; yer right han' sal light on yer ill-willers a'.
9 Wi' a glint ye sal mak them as het as ane oon: the LORD in his wuth sal lat them owre, an' the lowe itsel sal mak snacks o' them.
10 Their outcome frae yirth ye sal wear awa; an' their seed frae 'mang bairns o' the yird.
11 For they rax't themsels out again thee; they ettled mischieff, they could ne'er mak-guid.
12 For ye claught them ahin wi' yer thets; an' afore, ye war ready till ding.
13 Heigh, heigh, O LORD, i' yer ain might; lat's lilt an' sing sangs till yer mightiness.
David foremaist, an' Chryst ahin him, baith maen fu' sair the mislipp'nin o' God i' their ain day o' dule: mony wonner-wyss words i' the sangmakar's mouthe anent this, an' till be weel tentit. For the lave, God himlane hauds a' livin: nae man can haud himsel livin; they come a' an' they gang; bot they're countit ay till the LORD for ane, for the LORD himsel maks a'.
Till the sang-maister on Aijeleth-Shahar: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
MY God, my God, whatfor hae ye mislippen'd me? Sae far are ye frae helpin me, an' the words o' my waefu' wailin.
2 My God, I hae skreighit the leelang day, bot ye mind me nane; an' the night forby, an' nae peace for me.
3 Bot ye are yerlane, an' weel fa' the leal lilts o' Israel.
4 Our faithers lippen'd till thee; they lippen'd, an' ye redd them hame.
5 They sigh't till yersel, an' wan weel awa; they lippen'd till thee, an' war nane affrontit.
6 Bot 'am but a worm, an' nae man; a carl's sang, an' a geck o' the peopil.
7 A' that see me laugh me by; they schute wi' the lip, they cave the head; - an' quo' they,
8 He lippen'd the LORD; lat the LORD gar him gang; lat the LORD redd him but, sen he liket him weel.
9 Bot yerlane redd me out frae the wame; ye mislippen'd me nane on my mither's bosom.
10 On yersel was I cuisten frae the womb; frae my mither's bouk, ye 'been my God.
11 Be-na far frae me, LORD, for stretts are nar; for nane but yerlane can mak sikker.
12 Droves o' nowte hae rinket me roun; stoor stirks o' Bashan hae fankit me about.
13 They glaum'd abune me wi' their mouthes, like a rievan an' a roaran lyoun.
14 'Am skail'd like watir; ilk bane o' me 's lowse; my heart 's nae better nor wax, it's thow'd down laigh i' my bosom.
15 My bouk clang like a shaird, an' my tongue stak till my hals; an' ye brought me till the stoure o' dead.
16 For brachs hae forset me roun; the gath'ran o' ill-doers fankit me about; they drave thro' my han's an' my feet.
17 I may count ilk bane i' my bouk, for they glaum an' glow'r at mysel:
18 They synder my cleedin amang them; an' fling for my vera manteele.
19 Bot yersel, O LORD, be-na far frae me: haste ye till help me, my strenth an' a'
20 Redd my saul atowre frae the swurd; an' the lave o' my life frae; the grip o' the grew.
21 Redd me, LORD, frae the lyoun's glaum; ye hae heard me or now, frae the horns o' the reme.
22 I maun tell o' yer name till my brether ilk ane; in mids o' the folk I maun lilt till thee.
23 Wha fear the LORD, ye suld laud him a'; a' Jakob's out-come, laud him heigh; an' the growthe o' Israel a', quauk ye afore him.
24 For he lightlied-na, nor grue'd at the dule o' the down-dang; nor happit his face frae him; bot hearken'd, whan he skreigh'd till himsel.
25 Frae yersel comes the sugh o' my sang; i' the gath'ran sae gran' I sal bide my trystes, afore them that fear him.
26 'Lownlivin folk sal feed an' fen'; they sal lilt till the LORD, wha leuk for himsel: yer heart sal live as lang 's the lave.
27 A' neuks o' the yirth sal hae min', an' sal turn their gate till the LORD; ilk kin o' the folk sal lout afore thee.
28 For the kingryk 's the LORD'S; an' maister is he 'mang the natiouns.
29 The best on yirth sal feed an' fa'; wha gang till stoure, ilk ane maun lout afore him; for nae livin wight can ay thole livin.
30 Bot their out-come sal thole, an' be countit till the LORD for kith-gettin.
31 They sal come i' their day, an' gar his rightousness be ken'd to the niest-come kin, that himsel did it.
The sheep-keepin o' the LORD's kind an' canny, wi' a braw howff at lang last: David keeps his sheep; the LORD keeps David.
Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
THE LORD is my herd, nae want sal fa' me:
2 He louts me till lie amang green howes; he airts me atowre by the lown watirs:
3 He waukens my wa'-gaen saul; he weises me roun, for his ain name's sake, intil right roddins.
4 Na! tho' I gang thro' the deadmirk-dail; e'en thar, sal I dread nae skaithin: for yersel are nar-by me; yer stok an' yer stay haud me baith fu' cheerie.
5 My buird ye hae hansell'd in face o' my faes; ye hae drookit my head wi' oyle; my bicker is fu' an' skailin.
6 E'en sae, sal gude-guidin an' gude-gree gang wi' me, ilk day o' my livin; an' evir mair syne, i' the LORD'S ain howff, at lang last, sal I mak bydan.
The LORD himlane is Laird o' us a'; whan He comes hame, the heighest an' the widest yetts maun open.
Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
THE yirth is the LORD'S, an' her out-come a'; the warld, an' whasae bide tharon:
2 For himlane grundit it amang the fludes; fu' sikker he set it amang the watirs.
3 Wha sal win up till the height o' the LORD? an' wha intil his halie stedd sal hae fast abydan?
4 Whase han's unwyttan are, whase heart unfleckit is; wha ne'er hecht his saul until ydilheid, nor sworn hath bakspanganlie.
5 Blythe-bidden ay sal he hae, frae the loof o' the LORD; an' right-rechtin frae the God o' his heal-ha'din.
6 Siclike are they a', wha leuk for himsel; wha spier for thy face, O Jakob: Selah.
7 Heigh wi' yer heads, O ye yetts; ye warld-wide thro'-letts, heize! that the King o' Gudeliheid may win ben.
8 Bot wha o' Gudeliheid is King? The LORD himlane, stark an' mighty; the LORD intil tuilzie strang!
9 Heigh wi' yer heads, O ye yetts; ye warld-wide thro'-Ietts, heize! that the King o' Gudeliheid may win ben.
10 Bot wha o' Gudeliheid is this same King? The LORD o' mony-might is he; himlane is that King right namelie! Selah.
Ane heart's-bode o' David's till the LORD, in unco sair stretts: how nieborlie the LORD gangs ay wi' a' biddable, lown-livin folk.
Ane o' David's.
TILL yersel, O LORD, rax I my saul:
2 O God, my ain, I lippen yerlane; lat me ne'er hing my head, nor my ill-willers geck owre me.
3 Nor nane wha lang for yersel leuk down; lat them leuk down, wha gang on wi' a lie.
4 Yer gates, O LORD, gar me trew them weel; yer ain gates weise me till wa':
5 Lat me fuhre i' yer truth, an' weise ye me; for yerlane, O LORD, are my heal-ha'din a': ilk lee-lang day, I leuk up till thee.
6 Hae min' o' yer rewth, O LORD, hae min' o' yer ain pitie; how they hae been ay sen-syne.
7 The misgates an' owregaens o' my youth, lat be; bot hae min' o' mysel for yer pitie's sake; for yer gudeness' sake, O LORD, min' me.
8 Gude an' aefauld 's the LORD himsel; sae wrang-gangers a' he can thole till set straught.
9 He weises the biddable ay wi' right; an' lown-livin folk he gars ken his gate.
10 A' gates o' the LORD are gudeness an' truth, till wha keep his tryste an' his biddens bide.
11 For yer name's sake, LORD, o'erleuk my sin, for it 's heigh an' wonner-wide.
12 Whatna wight is he that fears the LORD; he sal guide him the' gate he likes till fen':
13 His saul sal taigle the night in guid, an' his out-come syne sal haud the lan'.
14 The LORD'S ain thought 's wi' wha fear him; an' that tryste o' his he sal gar them ken.
15 My een, they 're ay on the LORD; for himlane redds my feet frae the net.
16 Leuk atowre till me, LORD, an' rew on me; for lanely an' feckless am I:
17 The stretts o' my heart are doubl'd an' mair; redd me out whar I canna win by.
18 Leuk weel till my dule an' my dree; an' a' my wrang-gangins leuk owre:
19 Leuk weel till my faes, for fu' mony they be; an' they like me as ill as they daur.
20 O waird ye my saul, an' wear me by; lat me ne'er hing my head, for I lippen till thee.
21 Lat the right an' the straught baud me heal an' fere; for I leuk till yersel late an' ere.
22 Redd Israel hame again, God, frae a' his cumber sair.
Honest folk can thole till be weel spier'd, an' clean han's are braw at God's ain yetts: David ettles baith; like a wean at the fit, he hauds weel by the LORD, an' will niebor nane wi' the godlowse.
Ane o' David's.
RIGHT-RECHT me, LORD, for I gang mylane; bot I lippen the LORD, an' suld stacher nane.
2 Soun' me, O LORD, an' try me weel; my lisk an' my heart, leuk thro':
3 For yer gudeness is right i' my een; an' I gang ay the gate ye trew.
4 Wi' liean loons I taigle nane; nor the gate o' the gley'd can gang:
5 The kirk o' ill-doers I like fu' ill; for I lout-na wi' warkers o' wrang.
6 My loofs I maun sine in saiklessness, LORD; syne roun by yer altar ca':
7 Till tell wi' the sugh o' a psalm, an' lat wit o' yer wonner-warks a'.
8 The biel' o' yer biggin, O LORD, as I lo'e! an' the neuk whar yer gudeliheid taigles!
9 Yoke-na my saul wi' doers o' wrang; nor my life wi' loons o' bluid:
10 Wha gowp mischieff wi' their han's, an' their right han' is pang'd wi' nae guid.
11 Bot in saiklessness ay lat me fuhre mylane; redd me hame, an' be gude till me, God.
12 My fit stans stieve on the straught: i' the kirks, I'se blythe-bid the LORD.
The LORD himlane's baith houss an' ha' till David; airts him weel an' hauds him livin: an' siclike is he ay, till a' wha lippen till himsel.
Ane o' David's.
THE LORD is my light an' my lown; o' wham sal I be fley'd? The LORD is the stoop o' my life, o' wham sal I hae dread?
2 Till eat my flesh whan ill-doers wan heigh; faes o' my ain, an' ill-willers eke; they stacher'd themsels, an' cam laigh.
3 Tho' ane host war raiket fornenst me, my heart suld be steerit nane; tho' war suld wauken again me, till this I wad lippen mylane.
4 Ae thing frae the LORD hae I sought; an' the like I maun warsle to win: till bide i' the houss o' the LORD, a' days o' my life to rin; till glow'r on the skance o' the LORD, an' till spier in his ain halie hame.
5 For mysel in his howff he sal hap, i' the day o' dule an' dree: he sal biel' me ben i' his biggin then; on a craig he sal set me fu' hie.
6 Syne sae sal my head, abune my faes, be lifted fu' heigh roun a'; an' gifts o' glee in his houss I maun gie; till the LORD I maun lilt an' blaw.
7 Hearken, LORD, till my skreigh, an' be gude till me; an' speak hame till me, ay whan I cry.
8 Quo' my heart till yersel, Seek ye my face: yer face, LORD, seek maun I.
9 Hide-na yer face frae me; dingna yer loon in wuth awa: my stoop are ye; forget-na me; nor mislippen me, God o' my heal-ha'din a'.
10 Tho' my faither an' mither loot me mylane, the LORD himsel has me uptaen.
11 Yer ain gate guide me, LORD; an' the road that's soun', for my ill-willers' sake, weise me wi' kind accord.
12 O lippen me nane till my ill-willers' braith: for threepers o' lies again me heis; an' the giber that ettles skaith!
13 O the gude o' the LORD, i' the lan' o' the live, gin I had-na lippen'd till see!
14 O Bide ay on the LORD himlane; be bauld, an' yer heart sal thrive: e'en sae, on the LORD bide ye!
The LORD maun haud David on live; the LORD sal ding owre ill-doers; bot ay gar his Chrystit thrive.
Ane o' David's.
TILL yerlane, O LORD, I maun cry; my rock, be-na whush till me: for till me gin ye whush, like the lave I maun be, wha gang down the gate o' the sheugh.
2 Hearken ye till my maen, whan I sigh till yerlane; whan I rax up my han's till yer ain halie hame.
3 Harl me nane wi' the ill, nor wi' warkers o' wrang till gae; wha crack till their niebors fu' lown, bot mischieff i' their hearts hae they.
4 Gie till them as their warks hae been, an' for a' they hae wrought o' ill: fornenst the wark o' their han's, gie them hame; gie them hame their fill!
5 On the warks o' the LORD, an' the deed o' his han's, sen they nae thought can wair; themsels he sal ding till nought, an' them he sal big nevir mair.
6 Bot blythe be the LORD, for he heard the sugh o' my sighan sair.
7 The LORD is my strenth an' my schild; my heart lippens a' till himlane: syne brawly I fen, an' my heart's unco fain; an', wi' my sang I sal laud himlane.
8 The LORD is their strenth an' their stoop; he's the health o' his Chrystit forby.
9 Saif yer folk, an' blythe-bid yer ain; an' feed an' up-head them, for ay.
Weel-wordy's the LORD o' the heighest laud: whan He sighs, the yirth steers; woods, watirs, wustlands, an' a', dinnle.
Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
GIE ye till the LORD, ye sons o' the mighty; gie ye till the LORD gudeliheid an' strenth:
2 Gie ye till the LORD the gudeliheid o' his name; lout ye till the LORD i' the lo'esomness o' haliheid!
3 The sigh o' the LORD's atowre the spates; the God o' gudeliheid gars thunner: the LORD is atowre mony feck o' fludes.
4 The sigh o' the LORD's wi' pith; the sigh o' the LORD's wi' gloiry.
5 The sigh o' the LORD rives cedars in twa; na, the LORD rives cedars o' Lebanon till flinders.
6 An' e'en gars them sten like a stirk; Lebanon an' Sirion, like some cowte o' the unicorns.
7 The sigh o' the LORD synders the flaughts o' fyre.
8 The sigh o' the LORD gars the wustlan' quauk; the LORD gars the wustlan' o' Kadesh dinnle!
9 The sigh o' the LORD gars the staggies cling; an' it dreels aff the leaf o' the forests. Bot it's intil his ain halie howf, the hail o' Himsel speaks gloiry.
10 The LORD sits heigh on the spates; aye, the LORD sits King for evir.
11 The LORD will gie feck till his folk; wi' peace sal he blythe-bid his peopil!
David's ain welcome-hame till the houss he biggit on Zioun.
Ane heigh-lilt, or sang at the han-sellin o' the Houss o' David.
I MAUN lift ye, LORD, abune a' the lave, for ye hae uphaddin me: an' ill-willers o' mine ye ne'er hae thol'd till geck at mysel wi' glee.
2 O LORD, my God, I skreigh't till yerlane; an' ye hae healit me.
3 O LORD, ye brought up my saul frae the sheugh; ye steer'd me till life, on my gate to the heugh.
4 Lilt loud to the LORD, ye sants o' his; an' gie laud, at the thought o' his haliness.
5 For intil his wuth's but a gliff; a lee-lang life's in his likans: sabbin may thole for a night; but a sang wi' the mornin waukens!
6 An' quo' I till mylane i' the lown, I sal ne'er be steer'd ony mair.
7 O LORD, by yer nieborlie gree, ye set a' fu' stieve on my craig: ye happit yer face but a wee; forfoch'n was I fu' sair.
8 I hae skreigh't till yerlane, O LORD; till the LORD I made dulesome maen:-
9 What gude can come o' my bluid, an I gang down till the' sheugh? will the stoure gie laud till thee, or yet tell yer truth eneugh?
10 Hearken, LORD; an' be gude till me, LORD: ye maun e'en be a stoop till me.
11 My dule ye hae swappit for lightness o' fit; my lingle o' harn ye hae lowsit it, an' wi' glaidness hae graithit me:
12 That my gloiry suld laud ye, an' ne'er gang wae; O LORD, my God, I maun laud ye for ay!
David's in dulesome dree, baith houss an' ha'; bot the LORD, wi' a glint o' his ee, redds him but frae sic cumber a'.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
I HAE lippen'd yerlane, O LORD; I sal nane be affrontit for ay: i' yer rightousness, redd me hame.
2 Lout me yer lug fu' gleg; fu' glegly rax me outowre: be for rock o' refuge till me; for till saif me, a hainin-towir.
3 For my craig an' my castel are ye; syne sae, for yer ain name's sake, O weise an' wear ye me.
4 Redd me frae the girns they hae happit for me; for yerlane are my stoop sae styth:
5 I lippen my life i' yer han'; redd me hame, LORD God o' truth!
6 I thole them nane, wha mak lies their ain; bot I lippen a' on the LORD, mylane.
7 I maun fyke an' be fain i' yer ain gude-gree; wha thought on my dule, an' in stretts hae tentet me:
8 An' steekit me nane i' the han' o' the fae; bot my feet set stieve in scowth.
9 Be gude till me, LORD, for 'am cumber'd yet: my ee wears awa in wuth; na, my breath an' my bouk, they flicher.
10 For my life wears awa in dule, an' my days in sighan; my pith gangs i' my pine, an' my banes are swaken.
11 Till my ill-willers a' 'am a geck, an' e'en till my niebors sairly: till my friens 'am a fearsome sight; wha see me therout, flee frae me.
12 'Am clean out o' min' as gane; I thole like a dune bicker.
13 For I heard the clash o' a wheen; on ilka han' was dread: whan they gather'd again me like ane, my life they ettled till sned.
14 Bot I lippen'd mylane till thee; quo' I, O LORD, my ain God are ye.
15 My tides are a' i' yer han'; redd me frae the han' o' my faes, an' frae them wha gird at me.
16 Wair a glint o' yer ee on yer loon; saif me for yer gudeness' sake:
17 O LORD, lat me ne'er hing down, for loud till yerlane I scraigh: lat a' the ill hing down, an' steek their gab i' the graif.
18 Lat liean lips gang whush, that carp at the rightous wi' scorn an' glee.
19 What walth o' yer gude ye hain, for them wha hae dread o' thee; ye hae ettled for them wha lippen yerlane, tho' sons o' the yird suld see.
20 Ye sal hap them hame i' the lown o' yer leuk, frae the glow'r o' the haughty carl; ye sal hap them frae sight in a canny neuk, frae the canglin clash o' the warl'.
21 Prais'd be the LORD for his wonner o' gude, till me, in a brugh weel-biggen.
22 For mysel, quo' I i' my haste, 'Am sned-aff frae afore yer een: nochtless, ye hearken'd my scraigh o' dule, whan I sighet fu' sair till yerlane.
23 Lo'e ye the LORD, a' sants o' his ain: leal-folk the LORD fen's; bot the warker o' pride he pays hame.
24 Be stieve, an' yer heart sal thrive; a' ye, wha lippen the LORD himlane.
Better own fauts an' be forgien, an' do weel; nor gang yer ain thrawn gate, till be schuten atowre frae God wi' stang on bridle, like senseless, menseless brute beiss.
Maschil o' David's.
WEEL for them, whase ill's forgien; whase wrang-doen's happit.
2 Weel for the wight the LORD wytes wi' nae ill; an' in breath o' his ain is nae double-dealin.
3 Held I my peace, my banes thow'd awa; or e'en gin I rowtit the lee-lang day.
4 For day an' night, yer han' was owre me a lade my seep wrought by till the drouth o' simmer: Selah.
5 My wrang-doen syne I lat wit till thee; an' the ill that I kent, I did-na hap it. 'Quo' I, I'se mak shrift o' my sins till the LORD; an' ye freely pat-by the ill o' my doen: Selah.
6 Wharthro', till yersel sal ilk likely ane pray, whan he lights on a faut till men'. Whan spates o'ergang o' watirs thrang, till him they sal ne'er win ben.
7 'Yersel hae been howff till me; in stretts ye hae stoopit me; ye hae graithet me roun wi' sangs o' gaenfree: Selah.
8 I sal weise ye, quo' God; I sal wear ye the gate ye maun gae, I sal tent ye fu' gleg wi' my ee.
9 Be-na ye like naig or like mule, that gang wi' nae thought o' their ain; whase chowks maun be chackit wi' branks an' kewl, in case be they yoke on yerlane.
10 Fu' mony a stoun's till the ill-doen loon; bot wha lippens the LORD, gude gree sal graith him roun.
11 Be blythe i' the LORD, an' fu' fain, a' ye that do the right pairt; an' lilt fu' loud for joye, a' ye that are straught o' heart.
The rightous maun daur tilt sing: The LORD that made a', an' that's owre a', is their ain heal-ha'din.
[By wha's no said.]
SING sangs till the LORD, ye rightous; sic liltin sets-weel the aefauld.
2 Gie laud till the LORD on the harp; on the lut wi' the tensome thairms, lilt loud till him:
3 Sing ye till himsel a new sang; play weel, wi' ane awsome sugh:
4 For right is the LORD's ain word; an' ilk wark o' his ain 's intil truth.
5 The right he lo'es, an' right-rechtin a'; the gude o' the LORD the yirth fu'fills.
6 By the word o' the LORD the lifts war made, an' their plenishin a', by the breath o' his mouthe.
7 He sweel'd like a bing the bouk o' the spates; he hairstit in barns the laighest fludes.
8 Fear the LORD, the hail yirth; quauk afore him, a' ye that won i' the warld.
9 For himsel spak, an' it was; he bad, an' it stude fu' sikker.
10 The will o' the folk the LORD lats gang; the thoughts o' the peopil he dings till naething.
11 The will o' the LORD for ay sal stan'; the thoughts o' his heart, frae ae kith-gettin till anither.
12 Weel for the folk, whase God is the LORD; the folk that he waled for his ain hame-ha'din.
13 The LORD frae the lift couth raik wi' his een; the bairns o' yird, he sees ilk ane o'.
14 Frae the bit whar he sits, he tents ilk dwaller on yirth.
15 He schupes their hearts like ane; he minds upon a' their doens.
16 Nae king's made right by the feck o' ane host, nae mighty man redd by his mighty pingle:
17 A horse for heal-ha'din's no till tryst; wi' his strenth an' a', he canna redd-single.
18 Bot, the ee o' the LORD's on wha fear himsel, on wha lippen a' till his likan:
19 Till redd out their saul frae diean-dune; an' in dearth, till haud them thrivan.
20 'Our life's but a tryst on the LORD; our stoop an' our schild is he.
21 For our heart in himsel sal be fain; on his name sae halie traist we.
22 Lat yer luve be atowre us, LORD, sae lang's we lippen till thee.
A sang for the feckless an' forfairn; till lippen to the LORD, an' mak the maist o' their ain fecklessness.
David's, whan he alter'd his gate afore Abimelech; an' he drave him but, an' he gaed his wa'.
ILK tide o' my life I'se blythe bid the LORD; his praise i' my mouthe sal be plene:
2 I' the LORD sal my saul be liltin-blythe; the feckless sal hear, an' be fain.
3 Mak might o' the LORD wi' me; an' his name we'se uphaud thegither:
4 I sought the LORD, an' he hearken'd me hame; syne redd me frae a' my fluther.
5 Folk leuk ay till Him, an' are brighten'd a'; nae gluff o' schame hae their faces:
6 This puir-body skreigh't, an' the LORD couth hear; syne heal'd him frae a' his fashes.
7 Na, the LORD's erran-rinner himsel bides about; till rax them atowre that are fley'd o' him:
8 Pree ye, an' ken gin the LORD be-na gude; blythe be the wight can bide on him.
9 Fear ye the LORD, ye sants o' his; for nae want's till them that fear him:
10 The lyoun's whalps may hungir an' thole; bot, wha seek the LORD, want o' nae gude sal steer them.
11 Here awa, bairns, an' hearken till me; the fear o' the LORD I sal hint ye:
12 What wight is he that's fain o' life; lo'es lang-days, till see gude-rife?
13 Waird yer tongue frae makin mischieff; an' yer lips frae liean, tent ye.
14 Awa frae ill, an' weel do ye; seek ay for the lown, an' win at it:
15 For the een o' the LORD are on rightous folk; an' his lugs till their bidden are loutit:
16 Bot the leuk o' the LORD's again doers o' wrang; min' o' them frae the yirth, till rute it.
17 The feckless sigh, an' the LORD can hear; an' frae a' their fash redds them haillie
18 The LORD's fu' nar till heartbroken folk; an' the wa'-gaen in spreit he sets gailie.
19 The wrangs o' the rightous fu' mony be; bot the LORD frae them a' has him synder'd:
20 Ilka bane o' his bouk tak tent o' sal he; no ane o' them a' sal be flinder'd.
21 The ill-deedie man mischieff sal fell; wha ill-will the rightous, awa sal pine:
22 The breath o' his servans the LORD sal hae bak; an' wha lippen till him, no ane o' them a' sal, dwine.
A sair plea wi' the LORD again liean stouthrief rievers: the LORD maun hearken an' uphaud David; an' the LORD's ay as guid as his word.
Ane o' David's.
FLYTE, LORD, wi' them that I flyte wi' me; an' fecht ye wi' them, that fecht again me.
2 Schild an' boukler, tak them baith; up, an' be stoop till hain me.
3 Syne out wi' the spear, an' kep the gate on them that wad fain win till me: say ye to my saul, O God - Heal-ha'din mylane I'se be till ye.
4 Scham't an' throwither lat them be, that hanker sae sair for my breath; bak lat them gae, an' wae lat them be, that ettle till wark my skaith.
5 Like caff afore the win' lat them be; an' the LORD's ain rinner ahin' them:
6 Mirk an' slidd'ry the gate they gae; an' the LORD's erran-rinner ding them.
7 For saikless for me they sheughit their girn; saikless, they howkit my life awa:
8 Mischieff, or he wit, sal owregang him; the girn that he happit sal fang him; tharin, wi' a stoun', sal he fa'.
9 Bot my saul sal be blythe i' the LORD; an' lowp for joye in his ain heal-ha'din.
10 Ilk bane i' my bouk may say, Wha's like yersel, O LORD; the puir frae the pithy, reddin? aye, the puir an' forfairn, frae him that wad rive him in twa!
11 Thar raise amang them threepers o' ill; they threepit again me, I ken-na what:
12 Ill for guid they niffer'd wi' me, till herry my saul or they quat.
13 Bot me! whan they pined, my cleedin was harn; my breath I wastit wi' wantin; till my bosom, my bidden cam hame.
14 Like's he war a frien', like's he war a brither till me; e'en sae, gaed I about: like as ane that was wae for his mither, e'en sae, I loutit an' grat.
15 Bot at my down-fa' they war fain; an' syne they wan a' thegither: or I wat, the fusionless loons, again me, like ane did gather: they rave me syndry in bits; they rave, an' they did-na whush:
16 Wi' trokers o' lies at bousin-bouts, again me their teeth they grush't.
17 O LORD, how lang can ye see siclikes? rax my saul frae their wasterfu' thrang; an' mysel frae the lyoun's tykes.
18 I maun laud yersel i' the gran' deray wi' the bouk o' the folk, I maun lilt till thee.
19 Lat my ill-willers nane be sae crouse wi' lies; wha hate me for nought, lat them steek the ee.
20 For o' nieborlie-gree they ne'er speak a word; bot lies they can flaucht thegither, again the lown folk o' the yird.
21 Their mouthe they hae raxit again me straught; an' quo' they, Hech! Hech! our ain ee saw't.
22 Ye hae seen't, O LORD; be-na whush, my LORD: tarry-na far frae me.
23 Wauken an' wait, for the right that's mine: my God an' my LORD, for my plea!
24 I' yer rightousness right me, O LORD, my God; lat them nane hae the gree owre me.
25 Lat nane o' them say i' their hearts, Aha, it's e'en 's we wad hae! nor yet, We hae glaum'd him up! lat ane o' them daur till say.
26 Scham't an' gyte thegither gang they, my ill that like till see: graithit in scham an' scorn be they, wha set themsels heigh owre me.
27 Lat them lilt an' be glaid, wha are fain o' my right; an' ay lat them say, The LORD be wight, that lo'es lown life for his lealman.
28 An' that right o' thine my tongue sal tell; an' ilka day lang, sal gie laud till yersel.
The ill man can neither think, nor say, do aught gude: God thinks an' does a' gude: David may be weel content, an' let the ill-doer dree.
Till the sang-maister; ane o' David's, thirlman to the LORD.
THE claivers o' the godlowse gang ben i' my heart: thar's nae fear o' God afore his een.
2 For he lies till himsel in his ain sight, or his mischief be kent ayont tholin.
3 The words o' his mouthe are but nought an' a lie; till be wyss an' do weel, he has quat al-utterlie.
4 On his bed he can think but o' nought; he gangs ay the gate o' nae gude; mischief he can ne'er win by.
5 Bot thy gudeness, LORD, is i' the lift; thy truth-tryst even wi' the cluds.
6 Thy rightousness like the hills fu' heigh; thy right-rechtins are ane unco flude: Baith beast an' body, LORD, thou hauds them heal.
7 What gear is i' yer gudeness, God! Aneth the schadowe o' yer wings, yird's bairns can betak them lown.
8 They're drookit-daft wi' the seep o' thy dwallin; ye sloken them a', frae the burn o' yer bliss.
9 For wi' thee is the wa'l-ee o' life; intil light o' thine, we see light itsel.
10 O rax out yer gudeness till them wha ken ye! an' yer rightousness ay till the single in heart.
11 May the cloot o' the carl ne'er gang my gate; nor the han' o' the ill-doer ding me by.
12 Thar gaed the warkers o' mischieff till the grun: they stacher'd, an' they cou'd-na stan!
Nae need till flee the tan', nor nae fore o' wrang-doen: the rightous sal ay fa' their ain, an' wrang-doers sal be sned aff for evir; bot a' that lippen till the LORD sal thrive.
Ane o' David's.
FASH yersel nane for ill-doers, nor sigh for the warkers o' wrang:
2 For like gerss they 'll be glegly snedden; an' like fother-blume they sal gang.
3 Lippen the LORD an' do weel; bide ay on the lan', an' thrive at will.
4 Be blythe i' the LORD, an' yer heart's content he sal wair on thee:
5 Deval on the LORD yer gate; lippen him, an' do a' sal he:
6 For yer right he sal clear like the light; an' like height o' the day, yer plea.
7 Be lown wi' the LORD, an' thole for him: fash nane for ill-doers' thrivan-gate; for the loon that can wark mischieffs.
8 Awa wi' angir, an' quat frae lowe; fash yersel nane wi' the wrang.
9 For warkers o' wrang sal be clean sned-awa; bot wha wait on the LORD, themlane the lan' sal fa'.
10 For syne, but a gliff, an' the ill-doer 's dune: tho' ye leuk for his place, thar's nae mair o' him.
11 Bot lown-livin folk sal ay haud the lan'; an' be blythe wi' nae en' o' gude-nieboran!
12 The ill-man, he thinks on the rightous for ill; an' grushes again him his teeth:
13 Bot the Laird o' the lan' sal laugh at him, for he kens his ain day sal be niest.
14 The warkers o' wrang, they lows'd the swurd, an' eke they stentit their bow; the feckless an' needy, till ding them baith, an' till fell the aefauld sae free.
15 Their swurd sal gang ben i' their ain heart then, an' their bows till flinders sal flie.
16 Ay better's a nirl wi' the right, nor the rowth o' mae warkers o' wrang:
17 For the arms o' wrang-doers sal breinge in bits; bot the rightous the LORD sal mak strang.
18 The LORD kens weel the days o' the leal; an' their heirskip sal stan' for evir:
19 They sal ne'er be down-cuisten in time o' ill; an' in days o' hungir sal stegh their fill:
20 Bot the warkers o' wrang till naething sal gang; an' faes o' the LORD, like the creesh o' lams, sal thowe i' the reek thegither!
21 The ill-doer taks, an' he ne'er brings hame; bot the rightous will len' an' lat lye:
22 Syne, whasae he bids sal ay bide the lan'; them he bans, they sal e'en be shot-by.
23 Frae the LORD, the wide yett o' the mighty man 's set; an' he fuhres on his gate fu' blythe:
24 Tho' he stacher a wee, he sal nane down gae; for the LORD hauds his han' fu' stythe.
25 A wean I hae been, an' an auld man am e'en; bot the rightous for-lied, or his bairns seekin bread, I ne'er saw:
26 Ilk day he cou'd gie or cou'd len'; an' his outcome was blythe an' a'.
27 Syne, awa trae mischieff, an' do weel; an' bide evir mair whar ye min':
28 For the LORD, he lo'es right-rechtin weel, an' will ne'er lea' his ain till pine: for evir an' ay sal they be stay; bot the stok o' ill-doers sal dwine.
29 The rightous sal fa' the yird; an' sal bide on't, the lenth o' langsyne.
30 The mouthe o' the rightous, it sets-furth sense; an' his tongue o' right-rechtin can tell:
31 His God's ain law is weel ben i' his heart; an' his gate, it sal ne'er swak itsel.
32 The ill-man, he glaums at the rightous; an' fain wad be his dead:
33 The LORD winna lea' him intil his han'; nor at rightin, gie him nae remede.
34 Bide ye on the LORD, an' haud weel by his gate; till fa' the lan' he sal heize ye yet: wi' wrang-doers sned-aff, ye sal see't.
35 I hae seen the wrang-doer thrive; an' braid like the braw green-tree:
36 He gae'd, an' he was-na; I sought him belyve, bot funden he cou'd-na be.
37 Tak tent till the aefauld, an' leuk till the straught; for the en' o' siclike is the lown:
38 Bot owre-gangers sal whamle thegither themlane; an' the en' o' wrang-doers gae dune.
39 Bot right folks' heal-ha'din, it comes frae the LORD; their strenth i' the time o' strett:
40 An' the LORD sal stoop them, an' redd them out; frae wrangdoers' han's, he sal redd them but: an' them, for they lippen till him, fu' sikker an' soun' he sal set.
David, in pitifu' plight, baith saul an' body, cries uncolie till the LORD till be gude till him an' help him.
Ane heigh-lilt o' David's, till keep the LORD in min'.
WYTE me na, LORD, i' yer lowan wuth; ding me na by i' yer bleezan torne:
2 For deep intil me yer flanes hae taen grip; an' sair ontil me is yer han' down-borne.
3 Nae feck i' my flesche, fornent yer angir; nae rest i' my banes, fornent my sin.
4 For my ain misdeeds hae gane owre my head; like some weary weight, they're ill till carrie.
5 My dulesome dints gang foich i' my folly:
6 Twafauld am I, an' cruppen till naething; a' day lang, I gang dark an' drearie.
7 For my lisk it's pang'd wi' some fusionless ill; an' nae soun'ness ava is left i' my body.
8 Feckless am I, an' forfochten sairly; I sigh wi' a sab frae the heart i' my bosom.
9 O LORD, afore thee is a' my yirn; an' my sighan, frae thee it has ne'er been happit.
10 My heart dwaums, my pith bides-na wi' me; na, the light o' my een, it's gane clean frae me.
11 My joes an' my frien's stan' atowre frae my breinge; an' my blude themsels haud far frae me.
12 Wha seek for my life hae girns till lay; wha ettle me ill speak a' mischieff, an' pingle on lies the hail day.
13 Bot I, like the deaf man, hearken'd nane; an' e'en like the dum, wha ne'er raxes his mouthe:
14 I was e'en as the man wha hears-na a sugh; an' ben i' whase gab are nae gainsayans.
15 For a' till yerlane I hae lippen'd, O LORD; ye maun speak till me lown, LORD God o' my ain.
16 For quo' I, Gin they're fain till see me fa'; gin they haud themsels heigh an my fit slidder!
17 For likan till gang am I ay; an' my dule, it's afore me evir.
18 For my sin I hae weel setten furth on the wrang I hae dune, I tak thought wi' a swither.
19 Bot ill-willers on live, are a' fu' stark; an' mony are they, wha mislike me saikless:
20 Wha pay me wi' ill, for gude till themsels; wha seek me wi' wrang, for my ain weel-doen.
21 Dinna lea' me, O LORD, thou God o' my ain; nor bide frae me far, as the lave are bydan.
22 Fy, haste ye till help me, O LORD, my heal-ha'din!
David maun be whush afore the LORD: man's but a fain an' a feckless creatur, frae the day that he cam, till the day he maun gang: David, like the lave, maun win hame.
Till the sang-maister, till Jeduthun: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
QUO' I, I maun waird my gate, in case be I slip wi' my tongue I maun steek my mouthe fu' stieve, sae lang's the ill-doer's afore me.
2 I keepit sair sugh i' the lown, I wheeshtit me, even frae gude: bot my dule, it wauken'd the waur, ay.
3 My heart was het i' my breast; wi' my thought, the lowe kennl'd: syne spak I right out wi' my tongue,
4 Lat me wit, O LORD, o' my en'; an' the meath o' my days, what it's a': how bruckle 'am syne, I sal ken.
5 Alake! but some han'-breid ye made my days; an' my time's like naething afore ye. The stievest man on yird can stan', ilk ane o' them's weak as Abel: Selah.
6 Man daikers, atweel, in a gloam; na, they fash themsels a' for nought: he harls gear thegither; bot kensna, the same wha sal aught.
7 Bot now, what leuk I for, LORD; my thoughts they are a' on yerlane:
8 Frae my wrang-gangins a' redd me out; the geck o' the gowk mak me nane.
9 I was whush; I ne'er open'd my mouthe; for I wat yerlane did it.
10 Haud aff me a wee, wi' yer weight: 'am dune, wi' the dirl o' yer han'.
11 Whan ye ding the brawest wi' blauds for sin; ye wear his pith awa like a moth: Sure ilk man's weak as Abel: Selah.
12 Hearken my bidden, O LORD; an' eke till my schraigh gie heed; be-na ye whush at my taivers: for 'am but a gangrel wight wi' thee; hameless, like a' my faithers.
13 Haud aff me, LORD, or I gather pith; afore I gang by, an' nae mair o' me.
David, intil dreigh haud, leuks lang for the LORD, an' the LORD redds him out; he preaches syne a' that's gude till the lave. Bot a heigher far nor David's ettled here, an' a rightousness mair nor his ain.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
LANG leukit I for the LORD; an' he loutit till me, an' he heard my skreigh.
2 An' he raxit me up frae ane awsome heugh, frae the till sae teugh; an' he stude my feet on a craig; my roddins fu' sikker made he.
3 An' a new sang pat he i' my mouthe, nae less nor laud till our God: mony sal see, an' fley'd sal they be; an' sal lippen a' syne till the LORD.
4 Blythe be the wight, wha ettles the LORD for his tryste; wha wairsna a leuk on the proud, nor on them wha gang eftir a lie.
5 Fu' mony, O LORD my God, hae ye made yer warks o' wonner! an' yer thoughts o' gude till oursels, thar' nae reddin up till thee. Gin I suld owretell an' wair words on them, they're mae nor a buik wad be.
6 O' slachtir an' hansel, ye ne'er thought weel. My lugs ye hae dreel'd: brunt-offran hail, an' hansel for sin, ye wad nane o'.
7 Syne, Leuk, quo' I; mysel maun be! I' the braid o' the Buik, it's written o' me:
8 Till wark yer will, O my God, but 'am fain; an' that bidden o' thine's i' my bosom.
9 Right-rechtin I cried till the feck o' the folk; my lips I ne'er steekit, O LORD, ye wot:
10 Yer rightousness happit I ne'er i' my heart; yer troth an' yer heal-ha'din tell'd I baith; yer rewth an' yer trewth I ne'er hade, frae the thrang forgather.
11 Steek ye na, LORD, yer pitie frae me: yer rewth an' yer trewth, lat them waird me weel.
12 For ills ayont tellin hae graith'd me about; my ain ill-deeds hae fang't me sae fast, I canna leuk up: thranger are they, nor the hairs o' my head; an' my heart, it mislippens me sairly.
13 Will ye, O LORD, but till rax me out; fy, haste ye, O LORD, till help me!
14 Lat them a' be affrontit an' lowe i' the face, wha seek for my life till waste it. Bak lat them gae, an' be smoor'd wi' schame, wha like weel the ill that 'am trystit.
15 Fu' lane lat them be, for the cost o' their scorn, Heh Heh! wha can say till me.
16 Lat them be blythe an' frolick in thee, a' wha seek eftir yersel: Lat them ay say, The LORD be hie! wha like yer heal-ha'din weel.
17 'Am but forfairn an' forlied; yet the LORD, he can rew on me: my strenth an' out-redder are ye yerlane; taigle na langer, my God, frae me!
Wha's kind till the puir, the LORD sal be kind till him: David's auld plea wi' ill frien's: the LORD hauds him weel; lat them do their warst.
Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.
BLYTHE be the man, wha has min' o' the puir: in his ain day o' dule, the LORD sal free him.
2 The LORD sal weel waird him, an' haud him on live; fu' blythe sal he fen i' the lan'; an', till his ill-willers' will ye sal ne'er up-gie him.
3 The LORD sal prap him on his dowie bed; ye sal turn whar he lyes, whan he's a' forfoch'en.
4 Quo' I, O LORD, be gude till me; heal ye my saul, for 'am wrang wi' thee.
5 My ill-willers a', they crack ill at mysel: The dead sal he die, an' his name dwinnle.
6 An he come for till see, he claivers a lie; nought but ill can his heart gather: but gangs he, an' he tells his niebor.
7 Thegither again me they clype fu' laigh; no ane o' them a' but wills me ill; again me mischieff they tak thought an' ettle:
8 Some ill-man's dree's come owre him now; an' syne that he lyes, he sal stan' nae langer.
9 My ain lown frien', that I lippen'd till ay; wha pree'd o' my bread, the heel he can gie me.
10 Bot yersel, O LORD, be gude till me; an' heize me up, or I quat them even.
11 Sae weel sal I ken ye lo'e me dear, gin my ill-willer owre me bears-na the gree.
12 Bot mysel ye sal haud i' my ain leal-gate; an' set me fu' sikker afore ye for ay.
13 Prais'd be the LORD, o' Israel God; aye, frae ae langsyne till anither: Amen, an' Amen; [Sae be't, an' sae be!]