P Hately Waddell


Ill-doers thrive, an' gang down: God's folk wi' Himsel are fu' lown.

Ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

SURELY God till Israel 's gude, till folk wi' a heart that's clean:

2 Bot mysel, my feet maist gaed awa frae me; my gates, they war a' but gane.

3 For I grein'd wi' spite at the senseless, whan I saw the ill-doers thrive:

4 For nae ban's at their death hae they; an' their fusion 's ay gude belyve.

5 I' the care o' the carl they hae nae fash; nor they're ne'er i' the cotter's plight:

6 Syne pride like a girth, it sweels them about; an' stouthrief, it cleeds them tight.

7 Their een, they stan' out wi' creesh; they hae mair nor the thoughts o' the heart;

8 They're lowse, an' they claiver o' schamous wrang; they claiver wi' heads fu' heigh:

9 They rax their mouthe till the lift; an' their tongue, it gangs yont the yird:

10 Syne his folk, they come hame as they gaed; an' watirs, the fu' o' a caup, are toom'd out till them wi' a sigh.

11 An' quo' they, Can God ken ought? Is thar sense i' the Heighest ava'?

12 Are-na thae the ill-doers that thrive; an' double their gear an' a'?

13 Than, for nought I hae clean'd my heart, an' in saiklessness sined my han's:

14 An' ilka day lang I 'been fash'd like a fule; an' thol'd ilka mornin' in ban's!

15 Gin I said I wad say siclike, I suld wrang the hail kith o' yer kin:

16 Bot siclike whan I thought till ken, 'twas the sairest fash o' my een:

17 Till ance I wan ben till God's halie howff; I could think on their hinmaist, syne.

18 Surely ye set them on slidd'ry gates; ye dang them aneth intil ruins:

19 Syne how are they brought, like a blink, till nought; an' fin' their ain end wi' sic grewins!

20 Like a dream i' the wauk'nin, O LORD; whan ye wauken, their wraith ye sal slight!

21 Sae, my heart it wrought unco sair; an' I thol'd a snell stoun' i' my lisk:

22 For mysel, I was senseless an' wantit wit; I was ane o' the beiss, i' yer sight.

23 Bot ay, 'am mylane wi' thee; by my ain right han' ye hae held me:

24 Wi' counsel o' thine, ye sal wear me kin'; an' syne intil gloiry help me.

25 O wha sal be mine i' the lift? an' ane by yerlane, upon yirth, I seek nevir:

26 My bouk an' my heart may gae wa'; bot the strenth o' my heart an' my ha', is ay God himlane for evir!

27 For ye ken, they maun die wha bide far frae thee wi' a clour ye can fell them a', wha gang till play lowse frae yersel:

28 Bot mylane, till win hame to God is the feck o' a' gude till me: my tryste I hae set on the LORD that's LORD, that yer wonner-warks a' I might tell.

Psalm LXXIV.

A lilt o' dule for the waste o' the lan'; an' a plea wi' God, on a' he has tholed an' on a' he has dune, till win hame an' uphaud his ain.

Maschil o' Asaph's.

WHATFOR, O God, hae ye dang us atowre? Maun yer wuth ay reek, on the sheep o' yer lan' for evir?

2 Hae min' o' yer kirk, ye coft lang-syne: the stok o' yer ha'din, ye fee'd; Mount-Zioun hersel, whar ye bade.

3 O lift up yer feet on the weary wust; a' the ill the ill-willer's dune, i' the halidom.

4 Yer faes haud a sugh i' the mids o' yer kirks; trysts o' their ain, they mak trysts for God.

5 A man was kent, as he rax't fu' heigh an aix on the tanglet tree:

6 Bot now a' her bawks they ding till bits, at ance wi' mattocks an' mells.

7 They hae flang i' the lowe that howff o' yer ain; they hae filed wi' stoure on the yird, the neuk whar yer name suld bide.

8 Quo' they to themsel, Lat's ding them a': they hae brunt a' God's kirks i' the lan'.

9 Trysts o' our ain, we see nae mair; no a seer 's till the fore; nor ane o' oursels that kens, or can tell, how lang!

10 How lang, O God, sal the enemie sneer? that name o' yer ain, sal the ill-willer slight for evir?

11 Whatfor haud ye bak yer han'? yer ain right han'? Rax but frae aneth yer bosom!

12 For God was my King langsyne; warkin heal-ha'din in mids o' the yirth.

13 Ye synder'd the sea wi' yer might; ye flinder'd the heads o' the beiss i' the watirs:

14 Yerlane dang leviathan's heads in bits; ye gied him for meat, till the folk i' the wustlan'.

15 Yerlane open'd fountain an' flude; ye slakket awa the strick-rowin watirs.

16 Yer ain is the day, an' yer ain is the night; the light an' light-bringer, ye ettled them baith.

17 The bounds o' the yirth, ye hae settled them a'; simmer an' winter, ye made them.

18 Hae min' how the ill-willer jeers, O LORD; an' folk that are fules, how they scorn yer name.

19 Gie nane to the ill-deedie thrang, the life o' yer turtle-doo; the feck o' yer ain, sae forfairn, forget-na for evir an' ay.

20 Hae min' o' the tryst ye made; for the neuks o' the yirth sae mirk, wi' the biggens o' stouthrief are fu'.

21 O send-na the feckless hame wi' scorn; lat the puir an' the faitherless laud yer name.

22 Fy up, O God, an' plea yer ain plea; hae min' how the witless loon jeers at yersel, day an' daily.

23 Forget-na the sugh o' yer faes; for the steer o' them that wad steer again thee, it 'll rax owre the lave o' us haillie.

Psalm LXXV.

A plea wi' fule-folk wastin God's warl', till be wyss, an they wad-na thole wytin at his ain han'.

Till the sang-maister: Al-Taschith: ane heigh-lilt, or sang, o' Asaph's.

THANKS, O God, gie we till thee, thanks gie we till yersel; for the warks o' wonner ye wair on us, that yer name's comin hame they tell.

2 An I tak the thrang in han', right-rechtins mylane I sal gie.

3 The lan' an' her folk are thowan awa; I maun steady her stoops mysel: Selah.

4 Quo' I till the fules, Will ye no be wyss? an' till warkers o' wrang, Rax-na the horn on hie:

5 O rax-na yer horn sae heigh owre a'; an' speak-na wi' neuk sae stieve:

6 For neither frae east, nor frae wast, nor frae southe, comes right till haud the gree:

7 Bot God sal be righter, himlane lays laigh, an' himlane 's wha can set on hie.

8 For a caup 's i' the han' o' the LORD; an' the wine it 's fu' red, an' it's a' owre-hede: he sal toom frae the same, bot its shairins syne, a' ill-doers on yirth, they sal pingle them out, an' sal drink.

9 Bot mysel, I sal ay say on; I sal lilt till Jakob's God.

10 A' horns o' ill-doers I'll sned forby: bot the horns o' the right sal stan' heigh.

Psalm LXXVI.

God, whan he gangs till the stour, can do mair nor ane host o' weir.

Till the sang-maister on Neginoth: ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

WEEL-KENT intil Judah is God; his name 's intil Israel gran':

2 Intil Salem 's his howff forby; an' on Zioun, his shielin stan's.

3 Yonder dang he the lowan flight-flanes: the schild, an' the swurd, an' the tuilzie: Selah.

4 O brighter are ye yerlane; sterker nor heights o' spulzie.

5 The stieve in heart are herry'd an' dune; they sleepit their sleep outright: no ane o' them a' their han's cou'd fin', that war sic carls o' might.

6 At thy snell wytin, O Jakob's God, baith heigh-sled an' horse war smoor'd.

7 Yersel, yersel, alane maun be fear'd; an' wha can thole afore yer face, an ance yer angir lowes?

8 Frae the lift ye gar'd right be heard; the yirth, scho quaukit an' whush'd:

9 Whan ye raise till the rightin, O God; till hain a' the lown on the lan': Selah.

10 Surely the angir o' man, itsel sal gie laud till thee; the owrecome o' wuth like his ain, ye sal e'en haud it tight in ban'.

11 Tryst ye an' pay, till the LORD your God; hansels till wha suld be fear'd, fesh a' that about him be.

12 He steeks aff the breath o' the foremaist: dreid-eneugh, till kings o' the yirth, is he.


Ane unco sair warsle wi' dule an' sorrow: God's kindness canna be gane: for his wonner-warks o' gude are ayont the flude.

Till the sang-maister; till Jeduthun: ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

I SKREIGH'T until God, till I roopit; I skreigh't until God, an' he hearken'd till me.

2 I' the day o' my fash, I sought till the LORD; my han' rax't atowre i' the night, an' it quat-na: my saul wad thole nae remede.

3 I minded on God, an' I warsle'd; I sighet fu' sair, an' my spreit was dang throwither: Selah.

4 My een, ye haud them ay waukin; 'am sae daiver'd, I speak-na ae word.

5 Then I thought on the days o' lang-syne; the years o' sae mony byganes:

6 I thought owre my sangs i' the night; I croon'd wi' my heart by its lane; an' my spreit spierit uncolie hame:

7 Will the LORD cast awa for evir? an' ne'er rax his pitie mair?

8 Quat has his kindness for evir? will his word wear awa, whiles folk are?

9 Has God nae mair thought o' rewin? Has he steekit his pitie in pine? Selah.

10 Syne quo' I, This is a' my ain weakness; no the years o' the Heighest's right han'!

11 I suld think on the warks o' the LORD, for I min' o' yer wonners lang-syne:

12 Na, I sigh owre ilk wark o' yer ain; an' I croon on yer deeds wi' a sang.

13 Yer gate, O God, 's by itslane; what-na God 's like our ain God ava'?

14 Yerlane are the God a wonner can do; yer strenth ye made kent amang peopil a'.

15 Wi' an arm, ye brought hame yer ain folk; the bairns o' Jakob an' Joseph: Selah.

16 The watirs, they saw thee, O God; the watirs, they saw thee an' grue'd, they war steer'd, aye, their laighest neuks.

17 The cluds, they toom'd owre wi' a spate; the lift gied a scraigh athort; an' thae flanes o' yer ain, how they gaed!

18 The reel o' yer thunner was roun; yer lightnins, they daizl'd the warl'; the yirth, scho trimml't an' sheuk.

19 Yer gate, it was ben i' the sea; yer roddins in mony a flude; bot yer fitsteds, they ne'er war knawn.

20 Ye weisit yer folk like a flock, by Moyses an' Aaron's han'.


The story o' God's folk an' their hame-comin; how they thraw'd, an' war dang wi' God; their wastin an' their walin: ane o' the grandest sughs o' lang-syne.

Maschil o' Asaph's.

HEARKEN, my folk, till my bidden; lout yer lugs till the words o' my mouthe:

2 My mouthe I sal rax wi' wyss redin; frae lang-syne, I sal tell yo the sugh:

3 What we hae a' hearken'd, an' I ken'd o'; an' our faithers hae tell'd till oursel.

4 An' we maun-na hide frae their bairns; tellin a' till the folk that's to come, the praise o' the LORD an' his strenth; an' the wonners he wrought himlane.

5 For he ettled a bidden in Jakob, an' settled a tryst in Israel; whilk he gied our faithers in keepin, siclike till their weans to tell:

6 That the folk for till come they might ken them; an' bairns to be born suld win up, an' tell them to bairns o' their ain:

7 That their tryste ay on God they might lippen; an' forget-na the doens o' God, but waird weel his biddens ilk ane:

8 An' be nane like their faithers, a reistin an' thrawart kin; a kin never right i' their heart, nor aefauld wi' God i' their mind.

9 Sic-like war the lads o' Ephraim: weel dight an' a' wi' their bows, they turn'd i' the day o' weir:

10 They bade-na the tryst o' God, nor thol'd in his bidden till steer.

11 His doens an' a' they forgat, an' his wonners he loot them see:

12 Siccan a wark, i' their faithers' sight, he wrought intil AEgyp-lan', an' eke ontil Zoan lea'.

13 He synder'd the sea, an' he fuhre'd them owre; he dykit the fludes like a knowe:

14 He airtit them ay wi' a clud by day; an' weise'd them at night wi' the light o' lowe.

15 Rocks he rave i' the wust; an' sloken'd them weel, as frae dams owre-flowin:

16 An' he airtit spates frae the Craig; an' gar'd watirs fa', like fludes that are rowin.

17 Bot ay they gaed on, till miscarrie wi' him , till wear out the Heighest, in that drowthy lan'.

18 An' they tempit God sair i' their hearts; for their life-sake, till cry for victual to han'.

19 Na, they yammir'd on God; an' quo' they, Will God man a buird i' the wust?

20 He dang the craig, as we ken, an' watirs cam rowin awa, an' spates they cam but wi' a bock: will he man till gie bread forbye? or ettles he flesch for his folk?

21 Syne hearken'd the LORD, an' was fash't; syne wuth it was kennle'd on Jakob, an' lowe it wan up on Isra'l:

22 For they lippen'd them nane ontil God; nor trysted his ha'din sae heal:

23 Tho' the cluds he had tell'd frae abune; an' the yetts o' the lift he unsteekit:

24 An' toom'd down atowre them manna till eat; an' corn o' the lift till them streekit.

25 Bread o' the brightest ilk carl cou'd pree; he airtit their gate the fou o' sic victual.

26 Syne he wauken'd the east win' aneth the lift; an' steer'd on the southe wi' his mighty ettle:

27 An' toom'd out abune them flesche like stoure; an' like san' o' the sea, the feather'd-flier:

28 An' drappit it laigh in mids o' their thrang; a' roun about, by the side o' their shielins.

29 An' they ate an' they stegh't till rivan fu'; for he airtit their gate their ain heart's bidden.

30 Yet they quat-na frae mair, wi' their bite i' their mouthe.

31 Syne cam abune them the lowe o' God's wuth; an' he dang clean dead the burst'n amang them; the brawest o' Israel syne, he brought down wi' a sugh.

32 Wi' a', they miscarry'd ay waur; an' they lippened nane till his wonners.

33 Sae their days he wure by intil want o' pith; an' their years wi' nae end o' tholin.

34 Yet ay as he dang them, they spier'd for himsel; an' wad turn, an' win eftir God:

35 An' mindit syne that God was their Rock; an' God owre a', their hame-bringer.

36 Bot fair war they ay till himsel wi' their mouthe; an' fause wi' their tongues until him.

37 For their heart, it was ne'er that sikker wi' him; an' they ne'er keepit true till his tryst.

38 Bot sae kin' as he was, he wan by their faut; an' dang them na clean: na, fu' of'en he airtit awa his wuth; an' wauken'd-na a' his angir.

39 For he mindit that they war but flesch; a breath that gangs by, an' again comes nevir!

40 Sae aften 's they thraw'd wi' him thro' the wust; an' fash'd him sair in that gateless grun'.

41 An' ay they gaed bak, an' they tempit God; an' they boundit the Halie Ane o' Israel.

42 They thought nane on his han', nor the day he rax't them out-owre frae strett:

43 Whan he lowse'd a' his wonners on AEgyp-lan'; an' his ferlies, on Zoan strath:

44 An' chaingit their watirs till bluid; an' their burns, that they daur-na drink.

45 He sent them a flight, an' it glaum'd them up; an' the puddock, that wrought them sair:

46 An' their braird wair'd he on the kailworm; an' on the locust, the feck o' their care.

47 He dang down their vinestoks wi' hail-stanes; an' their planetrees wi' shoggles o' ice.

48 An' he steekit their beiss to the hail; an' their stockin till fiery flaughts:

49 He airtit amang them the lowe o' his wuth, flaught, an' feime, an' smoorin-drift, thae ill erran'-rinners o' his.

50 He thought on a gate for his angir; he hain'd-na their saul frae dead; bot he steekit their life to the plague:

51 An' he dang ilka first-born in AEgyp; the tapmaist pickle o' strenth in the howffs o' Ham!

52 Bot he fuhr'd his ain folk like sheep; an' weise'd them awa, like a flock in the desart:

53 An' he restit them thar i' the lown; an' they fash'd themsel nane wi' dread: bot the sea, their ill-willers it smoor'd:

54 Bot them he gar'd fuhre till his halirude-side; that height o' his ain, he coft wi' his ain right han':

55 An' drave out afore them the folk o' the lan'; an' rightit their haddin by line, an' gar'd dwall i' the howffs o' the hethen the clans o' Israel's weans.

56 Bot they tempit an' wearied the God was abune; an' thae trysts o' his ain, they ne'er keepit:

57 An' they thraw'd an' they lied, like their faithers lang-syne; like a thowless bow, they slippit:

58 An' they angir'd him sair wi' their heights; an' wrought him till lowe wi' their scoopit eidols.

59 God heard o' siclike, an' fu' angrie was he; an' he turn'd him atowre frae Isra'l:

60 An' quat syne his dwallin in Shiloh; the howff he had ettled wi' man:

61 An' his might he pat by intil thirldom; an' his gree, in the ill-willer's han'.

62 An' steekit his folk till the swurd; an' was stoor till his heritage syne:

63 His ain youngsters, the lowe snacket up; an' his dochtirs war thought o' nae mair:

64 His priests, they gaed down wi' the swurd; an' his widows, they grat-na a tear.

65 Syne wauken'd the LORD, like a sleeper; like a wight, whan he rowts wi' wine:

66 An' dang his ill-willers abune the houghs; an' wair'd them nae end o' schame.

67 An' awa wi' the shielin o' Joseph; an' wad nane o' the bluid o' Ephraim:

68 Bot he wale'd out the kin o' Jehudah; Mount-Zioun, he liked the same.

69 An' he bigget his halie howff, like the heighest abune the lan'; like the yirth hersel he laid it, fu' deep, evir mair till stan'.

70 An' he lightit on David his thirlman, an' took him frae the faulds o' sheep:

71 Frae gaen eftir the milkers he sent him, in Jakob till gang wi' his folk; an' in Israel, his hirsel till keep:

72 An' he fed them as right's his ain heart; an' wi' the canny turn o' his han's, he weise'd them the lownest airt.

Psalm LXXIX.

An unco sair 'plaint on a' the ill that's been wrought by ill-willers on Jerusalem: How lang can God thole the like? Will he no come hame, an' redd his folk frae sic herryment?

Ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

THE hethen, O God, hae won ben till yer ha'din; the howff o' yer halidom filed hae they; Jerus'lem, in bourocks they sweel'd.

2 They hae gien the dead-bouk o' yer thirlfolk, for meat till the bird i' the lift; the flesch o' yer sants, till the brute o' the field.

3 Jerus'lem round, their bluid they hae toom'd, like watir; an' nane till yird it by.

4 A geck are we till our niebors; a snirt an' a sneer, till wha round us fen.

5 How lang, O LORD? Will ye kennle for ay? an' that angir o' thine, maun it lowe like fire?

6 Toom out yer tene on the hethen, folk that ne'er kent yersel; an' ontil the kingryks enew, that ne'er gied a scraigh till yer name:

7 For Jakob, they 'eten him up; an' herried that hame o' his ain.

8 Wyte nae mair on oursels, our ain wrang-doens lang-syne: lat yer rewth win afore us, or lang; for we're sairly down-cruppen this while.

9 Help us, O God, our heal-ha'din, for the sake o' yer ain gude name; an' rax us atowre, an' put right on our wrang, an' a' for the gude o' yer name.

10 Whatfor suld the hethen say, Whar is this God o' theirs? Lat him be kent till the hethen, an' that in sight o' our een; whan the bluid o' yer thirlfolk that skaillit was, by them sal hae answer'd been.

11 Lat the sigh o' the weary thirl win ben afore yer sight; like that mighty arm o' yer ain, redd the bairns o' dead frae sic plight.

12 An' gie hame till our niebors forby, seven-fauld i' their bosom ben, thae jeers o' their ain, O LORD, wi' the whilk they been jeerin yerlane.

13 Bot oursels yer ain folk, an' the flock o' yer lan', sal gie laud evir mair till thee: frae ae kith-end till anither, thy praises owre-tell sal we.

Psalm LXXX.

How God plantit a vine-stok, ca'd Israel; how the beiss o' the woods therout wastit it; how God maun come hame, an' sort it.

Till the sang-maister on Sheshannim-Eduth; ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

SHEEP-HERD o' Israel, hearken: weisin Joseph on like a flock; sittin atween the cherubs, O will ye no glint furth!

2 In face o' Ephraim an' o' Benjamin, an' eke o' Manasseh himsel'; wauken that might o' yer ain, an' steer for heal-ha'din till us.

3 O weise us hame again, God; gar yer face gie a glint, an' we're saif 'd.

4 How lang, LORD God o' hosts, will ye reek at the pray'r o' yer folk?

5 Bread o' tears ye hae gien them till eat; an' wi' tears ye hae sloken'd their drouth, abune measur.

6 Till our niebors, ye made us a facht; an' our ill-willers laugh till themsels.

7 Weise us hame again, O God o' hosts; gar yer face gie a glint, an' we're saif'd.

8 A vine-stok ye brought out o' AEgyp; ye dang the hethen atowre, an' ye plantit her.

9 Rowth ye made a' fornenst her, an' rutit her weel i' the grun'; an' syne scho couth fill the lan'.

10 The heights, they war scaum'd wi' her schadowe; her beughs, they war cedars o' God:

11 Till the sea, scho rax't yont her suckers; till the watirs, her fast-growin rods.

12 Whatfor hae ye dang down her dykins; that ilka gate-ganger can rive her awa?

13 The boar frae the frith, he can stamp her an' the beast o' the fell, he can glaum her at will.

14 Hame again, O God o' hosts; tak a leuk frae the lift, an' see; an' visit this vine

15 An' the haddin yer right han' has plantit; an' the growthe ye made stieve for yersel.

16 Wi' fire it 's been kennled, an' haggit; at the glow'r o' yer face, they dwine.

17 O gin yer han' war atowre, on the Man o' yer ain right han'; atowre on the ae son o' Adam, for yer ain ye ettled till stan'.

18 Syne, frae thee, we suld ne'er fa' awa; lat us live, an' we 'll cry on yer name.

19 Weise us hame again, LORD God o' hosts; gar yer face gie a glint, an' we're hain'd.

Psalm LXXXI.

What Israel suld ay hae dune, an' what Israel might ay hae been, gin Israel had but tholed wi' the guidin o' the LORD their God.

Till the sang-maister on Gittith; ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

LILT loud until God, our strenth; till the God o' Jakob sing:

2 Tak a lilt, an' rax owre the drum; the cheerie harp, wi' the string.

3 Tout loud on the horn at new mune; at the tryst; on the day o' our blythe ado.

4 For siclike 's been a statute in Israel; a right wi' Jakob's God:

5 A bidden he made it till Joseph, whan he fuhr'd atowre AEgyp-lan'; an' speech I kent nought o', I heard.

6 His shouther I lowse'd frae the lade; his loofs, frae the caudron they slakket.

7 Ye cry't i' the grip, an' I lowse'd ye awa; I spak hame till ye syne, i' the thunn'ry neuk: at the watirs o' Warsle, I try'd ye: Selah.

8 Hearken, my folk, for I 'se threep wi' yersel; Isra'l, gin ye wad but hearken till me:

9 Nane sal thar be, a frem god wi' thee; nor till nae unco god sal ye lout an' bid.

10 Mylane am the LORD, yer ain God, wha brought ye frae AEgyp-lan': rax open yer mouthe wi' a will, an' syne I sal pang 't for thee.

11 Bot my folk wad hear nane till my cry; an' Israel wad nane o' mysel:

12 Sae I e'en gied them owre till their thrawnness o' heart; an' they gaed, as they liket themsel.

13 O gin my folk had but hearken'd till me; gin Israel had fuhred my ain gates:

14 In a blink, their ill-willers I'd brought till the grun'; and rax'd roun my han' on their faes.

15 Wha misliket the LORD, suld hae loutit till him; bot for evir an' ay, their ain time suld hae been.

16 He had plenish'd them syne wi' the best o' the wheat; an' e'en frae the hinney-craig, I had steghit thee!


Right-rechtin in Israel has gaen sair wrang; God himsel maun be her right-rechter.

Ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

GOD stan's i' the thrang o' the mighty; he rights amang a' the gods.

2 How lang will ye right wi' a wrang; an' the face o' ill-doers up-haud? Selah.

3 The feckless an' faitherless, right; till the down-dang an' puir, do nae wrang:

4 The feckless an' frail, sen' them canny hame; frae the ill-doers' han's lat them gang.

5 They ken-na, and care-na ava'; i' the mirk, they gang stevlin on: a' the founds o' the yirth are at thraw.

6 I said Ye war gods, mysel; an' sons o' the Heighest, ilk ane:

7 Bot yet ye maun die, like the laighest loon; an' like ane o' the foremaist, fa'.

8 Win up, O God; right-recht the lan'; for yerlane, maun tak feof o' the hethen a'.


Some gath'ran o' the niebor folk till mak awa wi' Israel; the Makar wytes them i' the name o' God, till be a' dang by like stoure.

A sang an' ane heigh-lilt o' Asaph's.

O GOD, be-na whush; be-na quaiet; be-na lown, O God.

2 For leuk, yer ill-willers wauken a din; an' yer haters rax up the head:

3 Again yer ain folk, they 'taen canny thought; an' ettle mischieff on wha lye i' that neuk o' thine.

4 Quo' they, Come awa; lat's sned them by, frae amang the folk; that the name o' Isra'l be nae langer in mind!

5 For their heart they hae packit thegither; again thee, they hae snedden a tryst:

6 Edom's howffs an' the Ishma'lites; Moab an' the Hagarenes:

7 Gebal, an' Ammon, an' Amalek; Philistins, wi' dwallers in Tyre:

8 Assyr as weel, was in pack wi' them; an' they stoopit the bairns o' Lot. Selah.

9 Bot do ye until them, as till Midian; as till Sisera, as till Jabin, awa by the Kison flude:

10 They war clean done awa at En-dor; they war dang like dung on the yird.

11 Mak the best amang them, like Oreb, an' like Zeeb; an' like Zebah, an' e'en like Zalmunnah, their foremaist ilk ane.

12 Wha said, Lat us glaum for oursels, the hirsel an' a' o' God.

13 My God, mak them a' like a trinnle; like fothir afore the win'.

14 As lowe licks up the wood; an' a bleeze, as it kennles the hills:

15 Sae drive ye them wi' yer onding; an' wi' yer swirlin blast, gar them cling.

16 Fill-fu' their faces wi' scorn, or they seek for yer name, O LORD.

17 Scham'd lat them be, an' lang frightit; an' daiver'd, an' whamml'd dune.

18 Syne sal they ken that yersel, wi' that name o' yer ain, JEHOVAH, are heighest the hail yirth abune!


How loesame are the dwallins o' God: blythe the bit birds i' the biggen; bot blythe abune a' is man; an' blythe owre the lave, wha see God in Zioun.

Till the sang-maister on Gittith: ane heigh-lilt for the sons o' Korah.

HOW loesome thae howffs o' thine, LORD o' hosts!

2 My life langs sair, an' wearies awa, for the LORD'S ain fauldins sae fine; my heart an' my bouk, they skreigh out fu' fain, for God, for the livin God!

3 The vera flight-flier, scho wales a bit houss; an' the swallow a nest for hersel, whar her birds scho may lippen fu' snod; yer ain slachtir-cairns, O LORD, my King an' my God.

4 Blythe dwallers are thae i' that houss o' yer ain; they maun ay be liltin till thee: Selah.

5 Bot blythe abune a' been man; his strenth 's i' yersel alane: i' their heart, are thae gates o' thine,

6 Gaen thro' the dulesome dale, they e'en mak the same a wa'l; an' the dreepin rain itsel, cleeds them wi' blessins abune.

7 Frae strenth till strenth, they win on; they leuk till see God in Zioun.

8 Hearken my bidden, LORD God o' hosts; hearken, thou God o' Jakob: Selah.

9 Schild o' our ain, leuk hereawa, God; leuk atowre on the face o' yer Chrystit.

10 For better 's ae day i' thae faulds o' thine, nor a thousan: fainer I'd jouk at the yett o' God's houss, nor be howff'd in ha's o' wrangdoen.

11 For a sun an' a schild, 's the LORD God himlane; gree an' gloiry the LORD can len': an' ought that's gude he winna hain, frae them that gang aefauld on.

12 Blythe be the man, O LORD o' hosts, till yerlane that lippens himsel!

Psalm LXXXV.

A cheerie lilt for the hame-come o' God wi' gude-will: his folk maun be wyss eftirhen.

Till the sang-maister: ane heighlilt for the sons o' Korah.

YE hae rew'd on yer lan', O LORD; ye hae lowse'd the thirldom o' Jakob!

2 Ye hae redd by the wrang o' yer folk; ye hae happit up a' their misdoens: Selah.

3 Ye hae swakket frae a' yer wuth; ye hae quat frae the lowe o' yer angir.

4 Weise us hame again, God our heal-ha'din; an' hae dune wi' yer angir on us.

5 Will ye lowe on us ay, evir mair? Will ye rax yer ill-will, frae ae kith-gettin till anither?

6 Will ye ne'er come hame, till gie life till us? that yer folk may be blythe in thee!

7 O LORD, lat us see yer ain gudeness an' yer heal-ha'din, wair 't on oursel!

8 I maun hearken what God the LORD will speak syne: for peace he sal speak till his folk, till his sants an' a'; bot till folly, they maunna win hame.

9 Surely nar 's his heal-ha'din till wha fear himsel; that gloiry may bide in our lan'.

10 Rewth an' trewth hae forgather'd wi' ither; the right an' the lown, they hae kiss'd, the twa.

11 Trewth schutes like the blade frae the grun'; an' the right, it leuks owre frae the lift.

12 Syne the LORD, he sal gie us what's gude; an' our lan' sal be guid wi' her gift.

13 The right, it sal fuhre afore him; an' sal airt us the gate o' his feet


Ane unco sair plea o' David's wi' the LORD, wha's far abune a' ither gods, till win hame till him an' help him.

Ane heart's-bode o' David's.

LOUT laigh yer lug, O LORD; hearken ye till me, for puir an' forfairn am mysel.

2 Tak tent o' my life, for 'am a' yer ain: heal ye yer ain thirlman, O my God, wha lippens himsel till yerlane.

3 Rew kindly on me, O LORD, for a' the day lang I hae skreigh't till yersel.

4 The saul o' yer servan' fu' blyth lat it be; for till yerlane, O LORD, rax I up my saul:

5 For gude, O LORD, are ye a' yerlane, an' o' pitie fou; in rewth abune a', till wha cry on thee.

6 Hearken, O LORD, till my bidden; an' thole at the scraigh o' my pray'rs.

7 In the day o' my fash, I maun cry till yersel; for yersel can speak hame till me fair.

8 Nane like yersel amang a' the gods; nor nae warks like yer ain, O LORD:

9 A' kins ye hae made, they maun come, an' lout laigh afore thee, O LORD; an' maun e'en gie laud till yer name.

10 For gran' a' yerlane, are thou; an' warks o' wonner, ye wrought yersel: O God, ye are God alane!

11 Weise me, O LORD, yer ain gate; syne sal I fuhre i' yer trewth: an' my heart, till fear yer name, haud it weel thegither.

12 For wi' a' my heart I maun praise yersel, O LORD my God; an' gie laud till yer name for evir.

13 For yer rewth ontil me, it's been wonner grit an' ye redd out my saul frae the graiff aneth.

14 A wheen haughty gods again me raise; an' a thrang o' ill-doers sought eftir my life; an' ne'er set yersel afore them.

15 Bot yerlane, O LORD, are a God fou o' pitie, an' kind; frae angir far, an' in rewth an' in trewth, abune mind.

16 Leuk atowre till mysel, an' hae pitie on me; gie strenth o' yer ain till yer loon that's in ban': an' saif ye the son o' yer maiden.

17 Tryst me some ferlie for gude, that my haters may see 't, an' be scham'd: for yerlane, O LORD, hae baith stoopit an' bield't me finely.


God cares mair for Zioun, nor the lave o' the warld forby; a' that sal count wi' him, maun count till be born tharby.

Ane heigh-lilt or sang for the sons o' Korah.

SAE sikker 's his found on the halie heights!

2 The LORD loes the yetts o' Zioun, mair nor Jakob's shielins a'.

3 Siccan ferlies are tell't o' thee, brugh o' God's walin: Selah:

4 Rahab an' Babel, I 'se name, till wha ken ought o' me: thar 's Philistie frem, an' thar's Tyre; alang wi' the lan' o' Cush: some loon, he was born i' the same.

5 Bot till Zioun sal ay be said, Man eftir man was born in her: an' Himsel, wha's Heighest o' a', he sal stablish her.

6 The LORD he sal count, whan he jots the folk, that siclike was born tharin: Selah.

7 An' the lilters themsels like fifers sal be; ilk wa'll-spring o' mine 's intil thee!


Heman lilts in dule, an' the sairest heart-threepin wi' God: neither light nor likan ava'.

Ane heigh-lilt or sang for the sons o' Korah; till the sang-maister on Mahalath Leannoth: Maschil o' Heman the Ezrahite.

LORD God o' my ain heal-ha'din, a' day hae I sighet fu' sair; an' a' night, afore thee, forby.

2 Lat my bidden win ben till yer presence; lout yer lug till my weary cry.

3 For my saul it 's been steghit wi' sorrows; an' my life wins awa till the graiff.

4 'Am countit wi' them that gang down till the heugh; 'am e'en like some carl wi' nae mair o' pith:

5 Lowse'd frae my ban's wi' the dead; like the slachtir'd, wha lye for the yirdin; that yersel winna mind ony mair, an' they're e'en sned awa frae yer hirdin.

6 Ye hae flang me aneth, i' the sheugh; i' the mirkest gloams, i' the laighest heughs.

7 Yer wuth, it dings owre me abune; an' yer angir-spates a', ye hae brusten on me: Selah.

8 My friens, ye hae schuten them far frae mysel; ye hae made me their scunner: 'am steekit close ben, an' sal ne'er win but.

9 My ee wears awa wi' dale; I hae skreigh't till yerlane, O LORD, a' day; I hae braidet my looves, fornenst ye.

10 Will ye wair wonner-warks on the dead? sal ghaists win atowre an' praise thee? Selah.

11 Sal yer rewth be tell't owre i' the graiff? yer trewth, amang mouls an' wastry?

12 Sal yer ferlies be kent i' the mirk? or yer right, i' the land o' nae mind?

13 Bot mysel, I maun scraigh till ye, LORD: an' i' the mornin ere, sal my bidden win hame afore ye.

14 Whatfor, O LORD, schute ye by my saul? an' hap ye yer face frae me?

15 Forfochten am I, an' 'am e'en i' the dead-thraw; sen a callant I was, I hae thol'd yer on-dings, an' kenna nae langer how till dree.

16 Yer angrie tomes hae travell'd owre me; yer awsome dreids, they hae sned me down:

17 They fankit me roun ilk day, like watir; they wan up about me, a' at ae tide.

18 Jo an' frien' hae ye schuten clean frae me; an' wha kent me narest, in mirk till bide.


What God has trystit till David, an' till a' that are David's ain; an' tho' David be uncoly tried, how God maun ay bide by his word. Blythe may they a' be wha fen like David.

Maschil o' Ethan the Ezrahite.

THE rewths o' the LORD evir mair I maun sing; frae ae life's end till anither, thy trewth I'se mak kent wi' my mouthe.

2 For rewth, quo' I, sal be bigget for ay; thy trewth, i' the lifts ye sal set.

3 I hae snedden a tryst wi' my walit; I hae sworn until David, my thirl:

4 I sal stablish yer out-come for evir; an' frae ae kith end till anither, that thron o' yer ain I sal big: Selah.

5 An' the hevins sal gie laud till yer wonner-warks, LORD; an' yer trewth, i' the thrang o' the sants.

6 For wha i' the lift sal stan' wi' the LORD? or kythe wi' the LORD, amang sons o' the mighty?

7 A God fu' dread, i' the thrang o' the gude; an' eke till be fear'd, o' a' that forgather round him.

8 LORD God o' mony-might, wha 's like yersel, sic a mighty LORD? an' yer truth, that wins a' about ye?

9 Yerlane, ye can swee owre the height o' the sea; i' the heize o' its waves, ye can lay them.

10 Rahab ye dang, like a slachtir'd loon; wi' the arm o' yer might ye drave yer ill-willers.

11 Yer ain are the hevins, an' the yirth is yer ain; the warld an' its walth, ye hae made them sikker.

12 The north an' the southe, ye hae schuppen them baith: Tabor an' Hermon sal lilt at yer name.

13 Yer ain is an arm wi' might an' a'; sterk is yer han', an' fu' heigh yer right han'.

14 Right an' right-redden are skowth for yer thron; rewth an' trewth haud the gate afore ye.

15 Fu' blythe may the folk be, wha ken the cheerie sang; i' the light o' thy ain face, O LORD, their gate they ay sal gang.

16 I' that name o' thine, the leelang day, sal they be liltin free; an' in that rightousness o' thine, sal they be hadden hie.

17 For the gudeliheid o' a' their might, are ye yersel alane; an' intil that gude-will o' thine, ye sal heize our horn abune.

18 For till the LORD, our schild effeirs; an' till Israel's Halie Ane, our King.

19 Syne spak ye, wi' the seer's sight, till him was dear to thee; an' help ontil a mighty ane I hae lippened, quo' ye: a weel-waled wight, frae 'mang the folk, I hae setten him on hie.

20 E'en David's sel, I fand him out, my ain lealman till be; an' wi' the oyle o' halieness, chrystit himsel hae I.

21 An' sae my han', wi' him sal stan'; an' my arm his stoop sal be.

22 On him the fae nae fash sal lay; nor mischieff's son him wrang:

23 Afore his face, I'll ding his faes; an' cloure wha wiss him ill:

24 Bot my trewth an' my rewth, they sal bide wi' himsel; an' his horn, in my name, sal be strang.

25 His han' I'll e'en set i' the sea; an' his right han' in braid-rowin fludes.

26 Till mysel he sal cry, my Faither are ye; my God, an' my hainin rock.

27 Syne sae the auld son I sal mak him; abune a' kings o' the lan':

28 Evir mair my gude-will, for him I sal hain; an' my tryst, wi' himsel it sal stan':

29 His outcome for ay I sal e'en gar stay; an' his thron, like the days o' the lift.

30 Gin his weans hae nae mind o' my law; an' gin they winna gang i' my right:

31 Gin they suddle the trysts I made; an' nane by my biddens will haud:

32 Their ain wrang-doens syne I sal snod wi' the rod; an' their folly, wi' mony a blaud.

33 Bot my kindness frae him I sal ne'er tak awa; nor mislippen my tryst o' truth:

34 Lightly my tryst sal I nevir; nor steer what gaed but frae my mouthe.

35 Ance hae I sworn by my haliness; till David whatfor suld I lie?

36 That his outcome suld bide for evir; an' his thron like the sun, afore me:

37 Like the mune, evir mair suld be sikker; an' what's true, i' the lift sae hie: Selah.

38 Bot yersel, ye hae airtit awa, an' misguidit us sair hae ye; wi' yer chrystit, ye 'taen the ill thraw.

39 Yer ain lealman's tryst, ye disown'd it; his crown ye hae filed i' the stoure:

40 A' his dykes ye hae wrakit till ruins; his strenths ye hae wastit awa:

41 A' that gang by the gate, they can rive him; he's a geck till his niebors a':

42 His ill-willers' right han' ye hae heizet; an' fu' blythe ye hae made a' his faes:

43 Na, the face o' his swurd, ye hae cuisten; an' in tuilzie, ye stoop him nae mair:

44 The skance o' his gloiry ye keppit; an' his thron ye brought down till the lair:

45 The days o' his youth ye hae snedden; ye hae happit him owre wi' care: Selah.

46 How lang, O LORD? will ye hide for evir? yer wuth, maun it lowe like a fire?

47 Hae min' o' mylane; but a blink I can hain. Ilk bairn o' the yird, whatfor hae ye made him for nought?

48 Wha sae stieve can live, an' dead shanna prieve? wha can redd but hs life, frae the grip o' the graiff? Selah.

49 O whar are yer thoughts, ance sae kind, O LORD? till David ye swure i' yer truth?

50 O LORD, hae min' o' yer thirl-folk's pine; I bear 't i' my breast, frae the feck o' the hethen a':

51 How yer ill-willers jeer, O LORD; how yer chrystit's ain gates they misca'!

52 Bot blythe be the LORD, evir mair: Amen, an' sae lat it fa'!