P Hately Waddell

[Intil this an' the hinmaist Pairt, as ye sal see, are many Psalms wi' nae headins o' their ain, an' by what makar's no kent. The LXX., or Septuagint, as they're ca'd, hae gien headins till a wheen o' them; an' we tak sic help frae them [in braggets] as they can gie.]

Psalm XC.

Man's like the gerss, an' his days like a tide: he comes an' he gangs, bot he canna bide.

Ane heart's bode o' Moses, the ae Man o' God.

OUR hame Ye 'been ay, yerlane, O LORD; frae ae life's end till anither.

2 Or the heights war shot but, or the yirth an' the warld ye had schuppen; na, frae ae langsyne till anither, hae Ye been God.

3 Man ye fesh roun till naething; aye, ye say Hame again, Sons o' the yird!

4 For a thousan year i' yer sight, are the gliff o' a bygane day; or e'en as a steer i' the night.

5 Ye hae drookit them a' in a dwaum; i' the mornin are they, as the winnle-strae dwaffles:

6 I' the mornin, it braids an' it dwaffles; or night, it lies mawn an' winn.

7 For in yer angir, we're a' for-fochten; an' in yer wuth, are we dang clean dune.

8 Our fauts ye hae setten fornenst ye; our weel-happit sins, i' the glint o' yer glow'r.

9 For ilk day o' our ain drees by in yer angir; an' our years wear awa, like the sugh o' a sang.

10 The days o' our years, seeventy year o' them a'; or wi' meikle pith, aughty year they may gang: bot a weary warsle's their feck wi' a'; for a gliff it gaes by, an' we flichter hame.

11 Wha daur mean the weight o' yer angir? e'en sae as ye're trystit, yer angir maun be.

12 Till count our days, gar us ken the better; an' airt our heart the gate o' sic lear.

13 Hame again, LORD, how lang sal ye swither? an' ay on yer thirlfolk rew the mair:

14 Stegh us fu' ere wi' rowth o' yer pitie; syne sal we lilt, an' be blythe a' our days.

15 Mak us blythe, for sae lang's ye hae dang us; an' the years we hae seen but ill:

16 Lat yer wark be but seen on yer thirlfolk; on their bairns, yer gudeliheid still:

17 An' the will o' the LORD our God be amang us; an' the wark o' our han's, till oursels mak it guid: O the wark o' our han's, mak it guid till oursel.

Psalm XCI.

Nane sae sikker as wha bide wi' the LORD: The ill-man himsel kens that fu' weel.

[By wha, 's no said: maist like by David.]

WHA lyes i' the lown o' the Heighest, he sal bide i' the bield o' the Stievest:

2 He may say, Wi' the LORD, is my to-fa' an' Craig; my God, I maun lippen him liefest.

3 For, frae the hunter's girn he sal quat ye; an' e'en frae the sugh o' a' ill:

4 He sal hap ye atowre wi' his feathers; an' ye'se lippen aneth his wings: his truth sal be shaltir an' schild.

5 Nane sal ye dread, frae the fright o' the night; nor the flane, as it flies the day thro':

6 Frae the ill that gangs i' the gloamin; frae the wastin, whan noontide 's fou.

7 A thousan sal stacher aside ye; an' ten thousan at thy right han'; bot it shanna win nar till thee.

8 But a glisk wi' yer een ye sal wair on't; an' the fairin o' ill folk sal see.

9 For ye made the LORD, my ain to-fa', an' the Heighest owre a', yer bield;

10 Ill, it sal ne'er befa' ye, nor mischieff win nar till yer shiel.

11 For his ain erran-rinners he'll weise ye; till tent ye, whare'er ye gang:

12 On their loov's, fu' heigh they sal heize ye, in case be yer fit tak a stane.

13 Ye sal gang owre the lyoun an' ethir; the lyoun's whalp an' grit ethir, ye sal thring them baith down yerlane.

14 For ay in mysel he had pleasur, syne sae I sal redd him hame; heigh by himlane I sal set him, for weel has he kent my name.

15 He sal cry till mysel, an' I'll tent him; mylane sal be wi' him in dree: I sal rax him atowre frae cumber, an' eke sal gie him the gree.

16 Wi' nae en' o' days I sal stegh him; an' a' that's in my heal-ha'din, I sal e'en gar him leuk an' see.

Psalm XCII.

How ill-doers a' are sned by like the gerss, bot the rightous braid braw like the trees.

Ane heigh-lilt or sang, for the Quattin-Day. [By wha, 's no said.]

IT'S gude till gie laud to the LORD; an' till lilt to thy name, Thou Heighest:

2 Till tell yer gude-gree i' the mornin gray; an' yer truth, whan the nights are dreighest:

3 On the lume wi' the tensome thairms, an' eke on the langspiel's sel; wi' the lown-gaen sugh o' a sang, alang wi' the harp sae snell.

4 For sae blythe's ye made me wi' yer wonner-wark, LORD; i' the warks o' yer hans, I sal roose mysel.

5 How mighty, O LORD, are yer doens; unco deep, are thae thoughts o' thine!

6 The carl, that's a brute, canna ken them; the gowk, o' sic-like has nae min'.

7 Whan ill-doers braid like the gerss; an' a' that do wrang growe green: it's ay till be wastit are they.

8 Bot yerlane, O LORD, are fu' heigh for ay!

9 Syne sae, O LORD, yer ill-willers; syne sae, yer ill-willers sal gang: sperflit sal they be thegither, a' that are warkers o' wrang.

10 Bot my horn, like the reem's, ye sal straughten; my auld age, wi' oyle sal be green:

11 My ee sal leuk owre my ill-willers; o' ill folk that steer up again me, my lugs they sal hearken the mean.

12 The rightous sal blume like the palm-tree; like the cedar o' Lebanon, braid:

13 Wha are set i' the LORD's ain biggen; they sal blume i' the faulds o' our God:

14 Ay on till grey hairs, they sal carry; sappy an' green sal they be:

15 Till tell that JEHOVAH is aefauld: my rock, an' wi' nae wrang intil him, is he.

Psalm XCIII.

The thron o' the LORD's abune fechtan folk, an' warslin watirs; Jehovah's gran', owre sea an' lan'.

[For the day afore the Quattin-Day, whan the yirth was founded: ane o' David's, quo' the LXX.]

JEHOVAH'S sel, he's king: wi' might he's cled, he's cled; JEHOVAH's graith'd wi' might: the warld forby, 's fu' sikker sted; atowre it winna swing.

2 Yer thron, sen-syne, 's fu' stieve; frae ayont lang-syne, yerlane.

3 The fludes hae rax't, O LORD; the fludes hae rax't their din; the fludes hae rax't their might:

4 Abune the din o' mony a watir-breinge; abune the breinge o' seas, the LORD 's fu' grand in height.

5 Yer trysts, they're unco sure; an' halieness weel sets yer houss, O LORD, nae end o' days till fuhre.

Psalm XCIV.

A lang plea wi' ill-doers, on what God maun think an' do wi' them. Nae thron o' mischieff, nor lawfu' wrang, the warst o' a' wrangs, can be his.

[By wha's no said: thought till be by Davd.]

GOD o' wrakin, O JEHOVAH; God o' wrakin, glint atowre:

2 Up, yerlane, the yirth's right-rechter; till the proud, gie double owre.

3 How lang, O LORD, sal evil warkers; how lang sal ill folk haud the gree?

4 They clash an' claiver heartless mischieff; they crack fu' crouse, a' that wark a lie.

5 Yer folk, LORD, they wear them clean dune; an' yer haddin, they waste it awa:

6 The widow an' wander'd, till death they ding; an' the orphans, till dead they draw:

7 An' the LORD, quo' they, sal ne'er see the like; nor Jakob's God ken ava'.

8 Tak tent, ye brutes amang folk; an' ye cuifs, will ye ne'er be wyss?

9 Wha plantit the lug, sal he no hear? wha shapit the ee, sal he tak nae notice?

10 Wha schules the hethen, sal he no fleech; wha insenses mankind wi' thought?

11 Aye, the LORD kens weel the thought o' ilk chiel; that the best o' them a' are but nought.

12 Weel for the wight ye hae taught, O LORD; an' e'en frae yer law glen him lear:

13 For lown till himsel, in the days o' ill; or the sheugh for ill-doers be bare.

14 For the LORD winna tine his ain folk; nor his haddin, he winna forlie 't:

15 Bot rightin sal win back till right; syne a' aefauld in heart, sal be wi't.

16 Wha sal rise for mysel on the wicked? wha sal help me, wi' warkers o' wrang?

17 An the LORD had-na been my up-ha'din; my life, maist a whush it had lain:

18 Bot my fit, whan I said it had slippet; yer gude-will, O LORD, made me strang:

19 In the thrang o' my thoughts within me, yer comforts, they made me fu' fain.

20 Sal the thron o' mischieff, that ettles sic fash on the law, be wi' thee?

21 They rin on the life o' the rightous; an' the bluid o' the saikless, they winna free.

22 Bot the LORD till mylane is heigh-ha'din; an' my God 's a stieve craig till me:

23 An' sal coup on themsels their wrang-doen; an' whan they sned, sal sned them awa: Aye, JEHOVAH that's God o' our ain, a' siclike he sal sned them in twa.

Psalm XCV.

A lilt o' laud till the LORD, an' a word o' gude guidin till Israel.

[By wha 's no said here.]

HEREAWA folk, lat us lilt to the LORD; fu' loud lat us lilt to the craig o' our ain heal-ha'din.

2 Lat us ben afore him wi' a lilt o' laud; wi' sangs fu' heigh, lat us lilt until him.

3 For a God unco grand is the LORD; an' a king fu' gran', owre the lave o' gods.

4 In that han' o' his, are the howes o' the yirth; an' his ain are the heights o' the hills:

5 Whase ain is the sea, for he made it himsel; an' the dry lan', his han's gied it shape.

6 O hereawa syne, lat us lout an' beck; lat us laigh on our knees, till the LORD our Makar.

7 For himlane, he is God o' our ain; an' oursels the folk o' his hirsel; an' eke the flock o' his han': Gin his cry, but the day, ye wad hear till.

8 O haud-na yer hearts sae dour, as ance in the weary warsle; as ance in the day o' thraw, in that gateless grun', ye daur'd till:

9 Whan yer faithers they tempit, they tried me sair; an' my warks o' wonner they saw still.

10 Forty year lang I was fash'd wi' the kin: Syne quo' I, the folk gang agley, i' thae hearts o' their ain; an' gates o' mine, they ken nought o':

11 An' I swure in my wuth till them syne, my rest they suld ne'er win ben to.

Psalm XCVI.

A sang o' laud, at the hame-comin o' the LORD till his ain halidom.

[Ane o' David's; whan his houss was bigget eftir captivity, quo' the LXX.]

SING ye till the LORD a new sang; sing ye till the LORD, the hail yirth:

2 Sing ye till the LORD, blythe-bid his name; tell ye his heal-ha'din, frae day till day.

3 Tell owre amang the folk the weight o' his gree; amang a' the folk, his warks o' wonner.

4 For grand's the LORD, can' fu' gran'ly lauded: himlane till be fear'd abune a' the gods.

5 For a' gods o' the hethen are gods o' nought; bot the LORD himlane, it was, wrought the hevins.

6 Gloiry an' gree are thegither afore him; might an' what's braw, in his halie howff.

7 Gie ye till the LORD, ye outcome o' the folk; gie ye till the LORD, gudeliheid an' might:

8 Gie ye till the LORD, the gloiry beha'din his name; tak a hansel, an' ben till his chaumers:

9 Lout laigh till the LORD, in braws o' the best; quak ye afore him, the hail yirth:

10 Quo' ye amang the folk, The LORD he's king; the warld eke fu' sikker is, that it suld ne'er be steerit: the folk he sal guide himsel, wi' his ain rightous guidins.

11 The lifts, lat them laugh; an' the yirth, lat it blythen: the sea, hit it rant, an' its plenishin a':

12 The field lat it fling, an' ilk haet that's inside o't; aye! ilk stok o' the wood, lat it lilt an' sing:

13 Afore the LORD, for he comin is; for he's comin till right the lan': he sal right-recht the warld intil rightousness, an' the folk intil truth that's his ain.

Psalm XCVII.

Anither heigh-lilt at the LORD's hame-comin: Zioun, abune a', suld be glad.

[For David; whan the lan' was lippened till himsel, quo' the LXX.]

THE LORD, he 's King, lat the yirth be blythe; an' the feck o' the isles be fain.

2 Cluds an' mirk, they gather round him; right an' right-rechtin stoop his thron.

3 Lowe afore him gangs, an' kennles his ill-willers roun' about:

4 His lightnins lighten did the warld; syne the yirth, it saw an' sheuk.

5 Frae afore the LORD the heights, like wax they thowe'd awa; frae afore the face o' him, that's Laird o' the yirth an' a'.

6 The lifts, they lat wit o' his right; his gloiry, a' folk can see:

7 Be scham'd a' wha jouk till ane eidol; wha crack sae crousely o' gods o' nought: lout laigh till himsel, a' gods that be.

8 Zioun hearken'd, an' syne was fu' fain: fu' blythe war the dochtirs o' Judah, for thae right-rechtins, LORD, o' thine.

9 For heigh abune a' the yirth, are ye, O LORD, yerlane: an' uncolie heigh till be ha'din, a' ither gods abune.

10 Thar 're a seed-time o' light for the rightous; an' joie for the aefauld in heart:

12 Be blythe in the LORD, ye rightous; an' lilt, till keep mind o' his halie pairt.

Psalm XCVIII.

Anither lilt o' laud to the LORD, fu' heigh an' gran', by a' sea an' lan'.

Ane heigh-lilt. [By wha, 's no said.]

SING ye till the LORD a new sang; for warks o' wonner himlane has dune: his ain right han', an' his halie arm, it wrought him salvatioun.

2 In sight o' the hethen folk, the LORD lat his health be kent; an' that right o' his ain, he made plene.

3 He had mind o' his rewth an' his trewth, till Israel's houss forby; a' neuks o' the lan' the heal-ha'din, o' him that's our God, they hae seen.

4 Wauken a din till the LORD, O a' the yirth: skreigh, an' lowp, an' lilt ye afore him.

5 Lilt till the LORD wi' the harp; wi' the harp, an' the sugh o' a psalm:

6 Wi' horns, an' the tout o' a swesch; mak a din afore the LORD, the King.

7 The sea lat it rant, an' its plenishin a'; the warld, an' a' that won tharin:

8 Lat the rowin fludes ding their looves thegither; the craigs fu' heigh, lat them lilt an' croon:

9 Afore the LORD; for he's comin till right the lan': he sal right-recht the warld intil rightousness, an' the folk wi' the straught o' his han'!

Psalm XCIX.

God's heigh owre a'; baith gude an' ill suld fear him.

[Ane o' David's, quo' the LXX.]

THE LORD he's King, the folk they maun gee; he sits in the cherubs, the yirth it maun swee:

2 The LORD intil Zioun, he 's grand an' a'; an' atowre a' the hethen, he 's hie:

3 Yer name they maun laud, sae mighty it is; an' sae dread, by its-lane setten by.

4 An' the King, his ain might 's ay fain o' the right; yerlane ye hae ettled the straught an' the right; an' rightousness sel, ye hae wrought it out, in Jakob.

5 The LORD our God, ye maun heize him hie; an' laigh at his fitbrod, lout maun ye; for he 's halie.

6 Moyses an' Aaron, wi' priests o' his; an' Samuel, wi' them his name wha did reeze: they cry't till the LORD, and he spak till them.

7 In the rack o' the clud, he spak till themlane; his bidden they bade, an' the tryst he gied them.

8 O LORD our God, ye spak till them hame; a God ye war ay that tholed wi' themlane; bot their ill-ettled thoughts, ye cam down on.

9 The LORD our God, ye maun heize him hie; an' laigh at his halie hill lout ye: for the LORD our God, he 's halie.

Psalm C.

We're a' but the sheep o' God's lan', an' the flock o' God's han': a' livin folk, they suld laud him.

A lilt o' laud. [Ane o' David's, quo' the LXX.]

SKREIGH till the LORD, the hail yirth, maun ye:

2 Beck till the LORD wi' blythe-heid an' a'; ben afore him, wi' a sang o' glee.

3 Ken ye fu' weel, the LORD he's God: himlane, it was, made us; oursel made-na we: his folk are we syne, an' eke o' his hirsel the fe.

4 Ben till his yetts wi' laud; till his faulds, wi' a lilt sae hie: lilt ye laud till himsel; an' that name o' his ain, bless ye.

5 For gude is the LORD; his gudewill 's for ay: an' frae ae life's en' till anither, that truth o' his ain, it sal be.

Psalm CI.

How David maun right his houss, or the LORD come till see him: an' it wad thole mendin.

Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

WHAT 's gude an' what 's right, I maun sing; O LORD, I maun lilt till thee:

2 I maun guide mysel weel in a aefauld gate, an ance ye come ben till me; wi' a heart that 's ane, in my houss at hame, the gate I sal gang maun be.

3 I sal ne'er set afore my een, ae word o' mischieff ava'; liean wark I hate, it sal ne'er be wi' me at a':

4 The heart that 's ill, sal gae frae me still; an' what 's wrang, I winna knaw.

5 Wha hidlins lies on his niebor, siclike I maun sned him by; the skeigh o' the een, an' the hoven heart, siclike I sal ne'er envy.

6 My een on the leal o' the lan' sal leuk, till ay gar them bide wi' me; wha gangs i' the aefauld gate, siclike my ain loon sal be.

7 Wha warks at sliddery wark, sal ne'er bide in biggen o' mine; wha claivers a lowk o' lies, sal ne'er stan' afore my een.

8 Or mornin light I sal ding, a' ill in the lan' that be; till sned frae the brugh o' the LORD, a' that wark iniquitie.

Psalm CII.

Israel maun-na tine heart: Zioun sal be bigget or lang, an' the LORD her helper sal bide evir mair.

A bidden for the feckless, whan forfochten he is, an' tooms out his sigh afore the LORD.

HEARKEN, LORD, till my bidden; my skreigh, lat it win till thee:

2 Hide-na yer face frae me, i' the day whan I thole sic dree: lout me yer lug, i' the day whan I skreigh; fy haste ye, speak hame till me.

3 For my days wear awa like the reek; an' my banes like the hearth-stane are brunt:

4 My heart, like the fothir, 's baith mawn an' winn; that my bread I forget till break:

5 Wi' the weary sigh o' my greetin, my bane wi' my bouk 's acquant.

6 Am e'en like the whaup i' the wustlan'; an' the howlet in gateless grun':

7 'Am waukrife, an' e'en like the sporrow, that bides on the riggin its-lane.

8 Ilk day, my ill-willers they jeer me; thae ranters, at me they can swear:

9 For stoure, e'en as bread, I hae eaten; an' my sowp, I hae jaup'd wi' a tear.

10 In face o' yer gluff an' yer angir; for ye heize'd me, an' dang me down:

11 My day like the schadowe, it dwinnles; an' e'en like the fothir, 'am winn:

12 Bot yerlane, LORD, sal bide for evir; an' guid-mind o' yersel, till the hinmaist kin.

13 Ye sal up, an' think sair on Zioun; for the time till hae pitie on her, for the time that was trystit has come.

14 For yer leal-foik, her stanes they are fain o'; an' her stoure they tak kindly in han':

15 An' the hethen, the LORD'S name sal quak at; an' yer gloiry, a' kings o' the lan'.

16 Whan the LORD fa's till biggen o' Zioun; he sal kythe in his gudeliheid a':

17 He sal turn till the prayer o' the feckless; an' their bidden, sal nane put awa:

18 Siclike sal be pen'd for the kin eftirhend; an' folk till be schupen sal gie laud till JAH.

19 For the LORD, he cou'd glint frae his halie height; frae the lift to the lan', leukit owre:

20 Till hearken the sigh o' the shackle'd wight; an' for Death's bairns, till lowse the door:

21 Till tell, athort Zioun, the LORD'S ain name; in Jerus'lem, his praise till accord:

22 In the thrang o' the folk, whan they gather like ane; an' the kingryks, till ser' the LORD.

23 He wastit my pith on the gate; he sned aff a wheen o' my days:

24 Quo' I, O my God, tak me nane clean awa, wi' but half o' my days in han': frae ae life's end till anither, thae years o' yer ain they stan'.

25 Frae afore time's bound, the yirth ye did found; an' the lifts are the wark o' yer han's.

26 Siclike, they gae dune, bot yersel ye bide on; ilk ane, like a dud, they wear by: like cleedin, ye shift them atowre; an' shiftet cleedin they lye.

27 Bot yerlane are the same 's ye war than; an' yer years, they sal neer wear awa:

28 Yer thirl-folk's weans, they sal bide on the bit; an' their outcome, afore ye sal stan'.

Psalm CIII.

How the gudeness o' God brings us hame frae the graiff: Tho' we gang like the gerss, God bides wi' our bairns, an' has min' o' his tryst ever mair.

Ane o' David's.

MY saul, ye maun blythe-bid the LORD; and a' in mysel, that name o' his ain sae halie:

2 My saul, ye maun blythe-bid the LORD; an' forget-na his gates, a' sae kindly:

3 Wha rews upon a' yer wrang; an' yer dowie turns a,' wha heals them:

4 Wha redds but yer life frae the mouls; wha theeks ye wi' gude gree an' kindness:

5 Yer mouthe wha has plenish'd wi' gude; yer youth, like the earn's, it has double't.

6 The LORD can do a' that 's right; an' what 's right, for a' that are pingled:

7 Till Moyses, his gates he made plain; till Israel's weans, his wonners.

8 Frienly an' kind is the LORD; lang or he lows, and in tholin, ayont a' measur:

9 He winna gang flytin for ay; nor haud his ill-will for evir.

10 He wrought-na till us as our fauts had been; an' pay'd us na hame, like our ain ill-doens:

11 Bot e'en as the lifts are atowre the lan'; sae heigh hauds his pitie owre them that fear him.

12 Sae far as the east lies awa frae the wast; sae far frae oursels has he rax't our wrang-doens:

13 Sae sair as a faither can rew on his weans; sae sair rews the LORD on them that fear him.

14 For himlane, he kens weel how he wrought oursel; he has mind we are nought but stoure.

15 Man, as he stan's, his days are like gerss; like a flowir o' the field, he growes:

16 For the win' it wins owre him, an' gane is he: the bit neuk whar he stude, sal ken nought o' him mair.

17 Bot the rewth o' the LORD, on wha fear himsel, is frae ae langsyne till anither; an' that right o' his ain, till bairns' bairns;

18 O' wha bide by his tryst, an' his biddens hae min' o', till tak them in han' without swither.

19 The LORD, in the lift, he has stoopit his thron; an' his kingryk, it raxes owre a'.

20 O blythe-bid the LORD, ye wha rin for himsel; sae wight in might, wi' his will in han', till hearken the sugh o' his word:

21 O blythe-bid the LORD, a' ye his hosts; loons o' his, an' that do his pleasur:

22 O blythe-bid the LORD, a' warks o' his ain; in ilk neuk o' his realm: My saul, ye maun blythe-bid the LORD.

Psalm CIV.

A gude word for God's wark on the warld: how wyssly it 's wrought; how gran'ly it's sortit; how kindly it's a' airtit an' ordered for baith beast an' body.

[Ane o' David's, quo' the LXX.]

MY saul, ye maun blythe-bid the LORD: LORD God o' my ain, sae grand as ye hain; gloiry an' gree ye put on.

2 Light ye dight on like a cleuk; the lift, like a hingin, ye streek:

3 Stoopin his bauks on the fludes; ettlin his carriage the cluds; on the wings o' the win' makin speed:

4 Errand-rinners he maks o' the blasts; an' loons o' his ain, the bleeze o' lowe.

5 Wha settled the yirth on her founds; nevir mair sen-syne suld scho steer:

6 The deep ye flang owre't, like a hap, the watirs they stude on the hills:

7 At yer wytin, they shifted an' gaed; at the sugh o' yer thunner, they skail'd:

8 Till the heights they wan up, by the howes they cam down, till the bit ye had scoop't for themlane:

9 An' a gavel ye bigget they ne'er wan atowre; that the yirth they suld-na win bak till cover.

10 Wha syne sent the wa'll-springs intil the howe glens, that airt them atween the hills:

11 Sae drink they can gie, till ilk beast o' the lea: wild naigies, they sloken their fills:

12 Atowre them, the birds o' the lift hae their howff; wha send their bit sang frae the beughs.

13 The heights he can seep frae his chaumers: wi' the rowth o' yer warks, the hail yirth it 's fou.

14 Gerss he gars growe for the beiss; and yerb wi' the care o' man, till fesh bread for himsel frae the yird:

15 An' wine that can blythen man's heart, till brighten his leuks mair nor oyle; an' bread, till man's heart that gies pith.

16 The trees o' the LORD are weel sappit; the cedars o' Lebanon's sel, siclike as he plantit himlane:

17 Whar-amang, the flight-fliers' they big; the stork, intil firs, bigs her houss:

18 The heights, for the heigh-climbin gaits; an' the craigs for the cunies, a howff.

19 Wha ettled the mune for the tides; the sun kens his ain gaen-about.

20 Mirk ye bring on, an' it's night; whan ilk beast o' the wood, it wins out:

21 The lyouns' whalps, they can skreigh till rive; an' they seek their ain bite frae God.

22 The sun, he wins up, they han themsels hame; an' ben i' their boles they lye lown.

23 But gaes man till the wark o' his han'; an' his labor, till comes the gloam.

24 O how mony-fauld, LORD, are yer warks; in sic wyssheid ye wrought them a': the yirth, o' yer outcome it 's fou.

25 Siclike is the mighty sea, an' sae braid as scho raxes awa: whar the wurblers rowe, ayont countin; livin creaturs, the grit wi' the sma'.

26 Thar boats, they can airt their gate; leviathan's sel ye hae schupen, till play himsel ben i' the spate.

27 Ilk ane, they a' lippen till thee; that in time ye gie them their meat:

28 What ye gie them, they harl thegither; yer loof ye braid brawly out, they 're plenish'd fu' weel wi' guid.

29 Ye but hap yer face, they 're dang daiver'd; ye steek aff their breath, they can blaw nae mair; an' hame they gang syne till their stoure.

30 Yer ain breath ye send but, they're wrought again syne; an' the face of the yird, ye mak owre.

31 Gree till the LORD evir mair; the LORD be fu' fain in his warks!

32 Wha leuks on the lan', an' it dinnles; wha but lights on the heights, an' they reek.

33 I sal sing till the LORD, while I live; I sal lilt till my God, sae lang as I last ava':

34 My thought on himsel, it sal please me weel; wi' the LORD, I'se be blythe an' a'.

35 Frae the yirth, lat wrangdoers wear by; an' ill-folk, nae mair o' them be: bot blythe-bid the LORD, O my saul; an' praise till JEHOVAH gie ye.

Psalm CV.

Twa lang lilts o' laud - ane here, an' anither in the niest Psalm: Ettled for the out-come o' Abraham, till mind them o' a' the LORD had dune i' their faithers' days.

[Hallelujah, quo' the LXX.]

GIE laud till the LORD, cry loud till his name: mak his warks weel kent till the hethen:

2 Sing ye till him, lilt loud till him; be fu' fain atowre a' his wonners:

3 Gie laud till his halie name; the heart o' ilk ane be blythe, that spiers for JEHOVAH'S sel.

4 Spier weel for the LORD an' his strenth; spier ye for his face an' a':

5 Keep min' o' the wonners he wrought; thae ferlies o' his, an' the rightins gaed but frae his mouthe:

6 Ye out-come o' Abraham, his loon sae leal; an' ye bairns o' Jakob, his walit.

7 Himlane, he 's the LORD our ain God; the hail yirth atowre, are his rightins.

8 He had min' o' his tryst, ay sen-syne; the word he bade be for years, a guid thousan:

9 The tryst, that he sned wi' Abra'am; an' the aith, until Izaak he swure:

10 An' for law made it sikker wi' Jakob; till Israel, a tryst evir mair:

11 Till say, To yersel I foreset the lan'; Canaan, for yer march an' fa':

12 Whan, till count, they war nane to the fore; an' but gangrel athort it an' a':

13 An' they haingled frae folk to folk; frae a kingryk, an' syne till a clan.

14 Yet tholed he the yird-born till fash them nane; aye, kings, for their sakes, he cou'd ban:

15 Ye maun-na lay han' on my Chrystit; till my seers, ye maun do nae wrang!

16 He cry't syne for dearth on the lan'; an' he brak the hail stok o' bread:

17 He airtit afore them a man wi' a'; Joseph was troket for guid.

18 They birset his feet wi' the clamp; his life, it gaed ben intil airn:

19 Ay till the boun' or his word cam roun'; the word o' the LORD gied him clearin.

20 The king he gar'd sen', an' he lowsed him than; the head o' the folk, an' he free'd him:

21 Laird he made him, owre that houss o' his ain; an' guider o' a' that belanged hm:

22 Till thirl his foremaist, whane'er he like'd; an' he taught a' their grey-heads mense-dom.

23 Israel syne, he gaed till Mizraam; an' Jakob, he tholed in the land o' Ham.

24 An' the LORD, he lucken'd his folk fu' weel; an' sterker he made them nor a' their faes:

25 Their heart syne it turn'd, till ill-will his ain folk; till play fause amang them war his servans.

26 Moyses, his leal-man, he sent; an' Aaron, he wale'd for himsel:

27 His will they made plain till the folk; an' ferlies in the land o' Ham.

28 Mirk he brought on, an' fu' mirk it was; an' they thraw'd-na at siclike his will:

29 Their watirs he swappit in bluid; an' their fish, i' the flude, he cou'd fell.

30 Puddocks in spates, their lan' it pat out; in the chaumers belangin their kings:

31 He spak, an' o' flies cam ane unco drift; it was lice athort a' their reenge:

32 He swappit them hail for rain; wi' bleezes o' lowe on their lan':

33 An' he dang baith their vine-stoks an' figs; an' he flinder'd the, tree on their band:

34 He spak, an' the locust scho cam; an' the worm, an' that ayont count, on the swaird:

35 An' they glaum'd a' the green on their grun'; an' they sorn'd on the frute o' their yaird.

36 Syne he dang ilk first-born i' their lan'; the tapmaist o' a' their might:

37 Bot his folk he fush out, wi' siller an' gowd; an' was-na intil their tribes, sae meikle 's a weary wight.

38 Blythe was Mizraam, as they fuhre'd them awa; for a dread o' sic folk had come owre them a'.

39 The clud he rax't out, for a hingin; an' the lowe, till gie light at night:

40 They sought, an' he airtit them quails; an' he stegh't them, wi' bread frae the lift:

41 He racket the craig, an' the watirs cam but; they gaed i' the wust, like a drift.

42 For he mindet his halie word, till Abr'ham his lealman sae true.

43 An' he fuhre'd furth his folk wi' joie; his wale'd anes, wi' blytheheid enew:

44 An' he wair'd on themsel the lan's o' the folk; an' the cost o' the folk, they did fa':

45 That sae, they might bide by his statuts, an' waird weel his biddens an' a': O, ye maun gie laud till JAH!

Psalm CVI.

Mair laud till the LORD; an' mair word o' what God did for his folk, an' how they thraw'd wi' him ay i' the wust.

Hallelujah.

GIE laud till the LORD, for he 's gude; for his gudeness it tholes evir mair.

2 Wha can put words on the warks o' the LORD? wha can set furth a' his praise?

3 Blythe be they a', wha haud weel by the straught; the wight that does right at ilk turnin.

4 Hae min' o' me, LORD, whan ye rew on yer folk; visit me wi' yer ain heal-ha'din:

5 Till see what 's gude, wi' yer walit; till be fain wi' the joie o' yer folk; till lilt wi' yer ain heritage.

6 We gaed wrang wi' our faithers an' a'; we did ill, we gaed uncolie wrang:

7 Our forebears in Mizra'm, they kent-na yer warks; till yer mony-fauld gudeness they gie'd nae heed; bot they angir'd him on till the sea, till the sea o' the tangle sae red.

8 Bot he heal'd them for a', for his ain name's sake; till mak kent what-na might was his.

9 An' he wytit that tangly sea, an' it swakket awa; han' he airtit them syne through the trochs; aye, e'en as on drowthy lan':

10 An' he hain'd them sae, frae the ill-willers' han'; an' coft them frae the han' o' the enemie.

11 The watirs, they whamle'd thae faes o' their ain; bot ane o' themsels was-na taigled.

12 Syne they lippen'd that word o' his ain; an' laud till himsel they liltit.

13 Bot sae sune, they quat min' o' his warks; an' waited-na weel on his guidin.

14 An' they grein'd, an' they yirn'd in the wust; they tempit the Mighty, in that gyte grun':

15 An' he gied them the weight o' their will; bot hungir sent ben till their saul.

16 Moyses, niest, they envy'd i' the camp; an' Aaron, set-by till the LORD:

17 Bot the yirth, scho raxit, an' Dathan scho glaum'd; an' sweel'd owre the core o' Abiram:

18 Syne a bleeze, it brak out i' their thrang; an' the lowe, it lick'd up the ill-doers.

19 They schupit a stirk intil Horeb; an' they loutit till flaughtit gowd:

20 Sae they swappit what was their ain gloiry, till the mak o' the gerss-thriv'n knowte:

21 God they forgat, their heal-ha'din; wha wrought sic grand warks in Mizra'm:

22 The wonners he wrought in Ham's lan'; an' the ferlies, by yon tangle-tide.

23 He spak syne o' fellin them a', had-na Moyses, his ain walit wight, stude weel i' the slap afore him; till airt his angir awa, that it suld-na win but till smoor them.

24 Na, they lightlied the loesome lan'; his ain word they did-na put tryste in:

25 Bot they yammir'd on i' their howffs; they wad hearken nane till JEHOVAH.

26 Syne he rax't his ain han' heigh again them; till ding them clean owre, i' the wust:

27 Till ding their seed by, amang folk; an' till sperfle them clean owre the kintras.

28 They yoket them syne till BaalPeor; they pree'd at the feasts o' the dead:

29 They angir'd him sair wi' their doens; an' the plague, it brak out on them braid:

30 Syne Phineas stude, an' cam down wi' the law; an' sae the mischieff, it was stay'd:

31 An' siclike sal be countit till him for guid wark, frae life's end till life's end, for ay.

32 At the watirs o' warsle they fash'd him sair; an' till Moyses cam ill, for their sakes:

33 For his thought, they dang throwither a'; an' owre fast spak he syne wi' his lips.

34 They dang-na the folk, the LORD bade them ding;

35 Bot flaughtir themsels wi' the hethen, an' syne took a swatch frae their warks:

36 An' thirl'd themsels down till their eldols, an' they war a girn i' their gate:

37 Na, they slachtir'd their sons an' their dochtirs, till gods o' the vera mischieff.

38 An' they skail'd the saikless blude; blude o' their sons an' their dochtirs they slachtir'd, till waefu' gods o' Canaan; an' the lan', it was filed wi' blude.

39 Syne sae war they filed, wi' sic warks o' their ain; an' play'd-lowse, wi' their ill-ettled thoughts:

40 An' sae was the wuth o' the LORD, kennled again his ain folk; till he grew'd at his ain heritage:

41 An' syne gied them owre till the hethen's han'; an' wha liket them ill, war their maisters;

42 An' their ill-willers thringet them down; an' aneth their han' they war broken.

43 Mair nor ance he rax't them atowre; bot they angir'd him ay wi' their counsels, an' syne they cam laigh wi' their sin.

44 Bot he leukit ay sair on their dule; whan he hearken'd them yammir an' a':

45 An' mindet his tryst wi' themsel, an' pitied them syne; like that mony-fauld gudeness o' his:

46 An' set them in pitie's place, afore a' that could mak them thirls.

47 Heal us, LORD God o' our ain, an' gather us out frae the hethen; till gie laud till yer halie name, till be fain in liltin yer praises.

48 Blythe be the LORD, Israel's God, frae ae langsyne till anither; an' lat a' the folk say Amen:

HALLELUJAH!