P Hately Waddell

Psalm CVII.

A lilt o' laud till the LORD, for his gudeness till a' that thole; an' till Israel abune the lave.

[By wha 's no said, nor kent.]

GIE laud till the LORD, for he's gude; for his gudeness, it bides for evir:

2 Lat the bought o' the LORD say siclike; wham he coft frae the han' o' ill-willer:

3 An' weised them thegither frae ilka lan'; frae east an' frae wast, frae north an' frae southe.

4 They wander'd athort the wust, on an unco en'less gate; nae town they could light on, till bide in:

5 Hungry an' drouthy baith, their life it wure out o' them pynin:

6 Than they sigh'd till the LORD i' their strett, an' he redd them frae a' their cumber;

7 An' airtit them right on a road that was straught, till gang till a town to bide in.

8 They suld laud the LORD for his gudeness; an' his warks o' wonner till sons o' men:

9 For he plenishes weel the yirnin will; an' the hungry saul, he steghs wi' guid.

10 Wha bide i' the mirk, an' the gloam o' dead; wha are taigled wi' lades o' airn:

11 For they fought at the words o' God, an' lightlied the thoughts o' the Heighest:

12 An' he brak their heart wi' a lade; they stacher'd, an' nane till stay:

13 Than they sigh'd till the LORD i' their stretts; an' he heal'd them frae a' their cumber:

14 He fuhre'd them atowre frae the mirk an' dead-gloam; an' the ban's that bun' them, he synder'd.

15 They suld laud the LORD for his gudeness; an' his warks o' wonner till sons o' men:

16 For he flinders the yetts o' brass; an' sneds the couples o' airn.

17 Fules wi' their senseless gate, an' eke their wrang-doen, maun thole:

18 A' kin' o' victual their life taks ill; an' syne they come down till death's doors:

19 Syne they sigh till the LORD i' their stretts; he heals them frae a' their cumber:

20 His word he sends but, an' he heals them; an' harls them atowre frae the mouls.

21 They suld laud the LORD for his gudeness; an his warks o' wonner till sons o' men:

22 An' offer a weight o' praise; an' keep min' o' his warks wi' a sang.

23 Wha gang till the sea in ships, an' hae do on the watirs wide;

24 Siclike they can see the warks o' the LORD, an' his wonners in that deep tide.

25 Quo' he, an' he ettles a blast; an' it heizes its watirs heigh:

26 They gang up till the lift, they gang down till the laigh: their life 's like till thowe wi' dread:

27 They stacher an' swee, like some drukken carl; an' a' their wit 's i' their mouthe:

28 Syne they sigh till the LORD i' their stretts; an' he redds them atowre frae their cumber:

29 The steer he brings down, till a sugh fu' lown; an' the breinge o' the watir bides.

30 Fu' blythe are they syne, sae lown an' fine; an' he airts them in owre till their loesome haven.

31 They suld laud the LORD for his gudeness; an' his warks o' wonner till sons o' men:

32 They suld heize him heigh, i' the thrang o' the folk; an' eke frae the elders' seat, they suld laud himlane.

33 Rowin-fludes he can turn till a desart; and watir-gates, till drow-thy grun':

34 Frutefu' yird, till a lowk o' saut; an' a' for the ill o' wha bide tharon.

35 Bot the wust he can turn till a stankit burn; an' drowthy lan', till watir-rins:

36 An' thar he gars hungry folk till stay; an' they ettle a town, till bide intil.

37 An' they saw the leas, an' they set the vine-trees; an' frute they mak syne, wi' an out-come still:

38 An' he blythe-bids them than, an' they growe fu' gran'; an' their beiss, they dinna fa'-by wi' ill.

39 They dwinnle or lang, and down they gang; an' a' wi' a weight o' mischieff an' dule.

40 He can toom out scorn on the foremaist; an' sends them till dauner on gateless grun':

41 Bot he heizes the puir, frae the laighest lade; an' wi' folk like a flock, he sets him on.

42 The rightous sal leuk, an' fu' fain sal they be; an' a' wrang-doen syne her tongue sal tack:

43 Wha 's wyss an' taks tent, siclike till see; the gudewill o' the LORD fu' plain sal mak.

Psalm CVIII.

An God gang-na but till the stour, kings wad be wysser at hame: The hail o' Canaan maun be David's.

A sang or heigh-lilt o' David's. [Brawly made, wi' sma' differ, trae the LVII. an' the LX., as ye may see.]

MY heart, it's set, O God; I maun sing; an' e'en wi' my gloiry play:

2 Wauken langspiel, an' wauken harp; mysel I maun wauken, or blink o' day.

3 I maun laud ye, LORD, amang hethen folk; an' lilt till yersel, amang niebor kin:

4 For heigh abune hevin, yer gudeness gangs; an' yer trewth, till the cluds it can win:

5 O God, be thou liftit abune the lift; owre a' the yirth, thy gloiry seen.

6 That the folk ye loe weel, may be lowse'd out o' thril; help wi' yer right-han', an' hear me.

7 Quo' God, whar he bides by himlane, I maun up: Shechem I'll synder in twa, an' redd out the howe o' Succoth.

8 Gilode, it 's mine ain, Manasseh mine sal be; Ephraim as weel, my head sal hain; an' Judah gie laws for me.

9 Moab's but my sinin-cog; owre Edom, I'll fling my shoe: I maun daur ye, Philistia, now!

10 Wha sal airt me the weel-bigget brugh? wha sal weise me in owre till Edom?

11 Winna ye, O God, wha ance schot us atowre? winna ye gang furth, O God, alang wi' our hosts till the stour?

12 An ye gie us help frae stretts, what signifies strenth in Edom?

13 Wi' God himsel, we 'se do unco weel; for himlane sal downtread our hail faedom!

Psalm CIX.

The man wha kens-na how till do gude, sal ne'er hae gude till ken: an unco sair wytin he tholes.

Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

GOD o' my laudin, be-na sae whush:

2 For the mouthe o' mischieff, an' the liean mouthe, hae rax't themsel baith again me: they crack at mysel, wi' a tongue that lies.

3 Wi' ill-willed claivers, they wrought me roun; an' fought at me saikless, the twa:

4 For gudewill o' mine, they're ill-willers to me; tho' I fleech'd them wi' prayer an' a':

5 An' ill they gied me for gude; an' spite, for the luve I gied them.

6 Set ye the mischieff owre himsel; an' the deil be on his right han':

7 At his rightin, lat him be the wrang; an' his bidden, for ill lat it stan':

8 His days, o' nae count lat them be; an' his turn lat anither try:

9 Faitherless ay be his weans; an' his wife a widow, forby.

10 His weans, lat them harl about an' seek; an' yirn frae their howffs sae drear:

11 Lat the ockerer rax owre ilk haet that was his; an' frem folk lay han's on his gear:

12 Nane lat there be till him pitie to gie; an' nane for his orphans till spier.

13 The last o' his line, be till death condign; their name, frae the niest kin dight out:

14 Be the ill o' his faithers in mind wi' the LORD; an' his mither's misfaur no forgot:

15 Ay lat them be, whar the LORD can see; tho' mind o' them quat frae the yirth.

16 For he ne'er had min' till do gude; bot he herried the feckless wight; an' the weak an' the wastit heart, he ettled till do to dead:

17 An' syne, sen he liket till swear, e'en lat it come till himsel; an' ne'er had the will to blythe-bid, far lat it bide frae him still:

18 And e'en as he happit him owre, wi' an aith, like some dud o' his ain, lat it win like a spate till his wame; an' like oyle, lat it seep in his bane:

19 Lat it be till him syne, like the cleedin that haps; an' the graith, he draws weel round himlane.

20 Siclike, frae the LORD, be the darg o' my faes; an' o' them wha speak ill o' my saul.

21 Bot yerlane, O LORD, my Lord, do ye a' that 's right for me: for yer ain name's sake, for it 's gude; in yer kindness, O redd me free.

22 For puir an' forfairn am I a'; an' my heart, i' the midds o' me, 's dune:

23 Like the gloam as it flits, I gae by; like the locust, I swee up an' down.

24 My knees they can knoit, 'am sae toom; an' my body, it wears out o' bouk:

25 Syne, I been a jeer till them; wha saw me, their head they sheuk.

26 Stoop me, LORD God o' my ain, heal me, for that gudeness o' thine:

27 Syne sal they ken, that siclike 's yer ain han'; that yerlane, O LORD, did it syne.

28 E'en lat them ban, bot blythe-bid ye yerlane; lat them up, an they will, cuisten down be they still; bot yer leal-man, fu' fain lat him be.

29 Lat my ill-willers ay, be cled wi' dismay; an' thick like a cleuk, theeket owre wi' their scorn be they.

30 Unco loud till the LORD, I 'se gie laud wi' my mouthe; an' in midds o' the thrang, gie him praise:

31 For he stan's at the han' o' the feckless man; till haud him soun' frae the lawless loons, wad gie law till end his days.

Psalm CX.

The LORD's Chrystit sal be king an' a', owre an' ayont Melchizedek.

Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

QUO' the LORD till that LORD o' mine, Sit ye on my ain right han'; till I mak ill-willers o' thine, a brod for yer feet till stan':

2 The rod o' yer might frae Zioun, the LORD, he sal rax 't himsel; in midds o' a' yer ill-willers, haud ye the gree fu' snell.

3 Folk wi' a will, sal be thine, i' the day o' yer might an' a'; wi' braws sae meet, the dewy weet, o' yer bairn-time sweet, frae the lap o' the light sal fa'.

4 The LORD 's taen a tryst, an' he winna gae frae 't; Yersel sal be priest on Melchizedek's gate, lang eneugh:

5 The LORD, on yer ain right han', sal ding kings in the day o' his wuth:

6 He sal redd amang hethen folk; wi' the dead, he sal pang the sheugh: he sal clour the crown, owre lan' out o' boun':

7 Frae the burn he gaes by, he sal drink whan he's dry; an' syne rax his head fu' heigh.

Psalm CXI.

The warks o' the LORD are loesome an' gran'; an' the truth a' his mouthe ever mair sal stan'.

Hallelujah. [Ane.]

THE LORD I maun laud, wi' a' my heart; i' the thrang o' the rightous, an' kirk itsel.

2 Fu' grand are the warks o' the LORD; till be spier'd for, by a' that loe them.

3 Bright an' braw, his wark it's a'; an' his rightousness stan's till nae endin.

4 Min' o' his warks sae grand, he made guid for ay; thoughtfu' an' kind is JEHOVAH.

5 Guid he can gie, till wha fear himsel; his tryst he has min' o' for evir.

6 The might o' his warks till his folk he made plain; till gie them the lan' o' the hethen.

7 The warks o' his han's, they're trewth an' right; an' sikkerness' sel, a' his biddens:

8 Fu' stievely they stan' for evir an' ay; wrought in truth an' aefauldness.

9 Redden he sent till his folk; his tryst he bade be for evir; halie an' awsome, his name is.

10 The height o' what 's wyss, is the dread o' the LORD; heedfu' guid 's wi' guid-warkers a'; an' his laud, it sal last for evir.

Psalm CXII.

The guid a gude man can do, an folk wad but think on 't! God's the God o' guid-warks, and o' a' guidwarkers.

Hallelujah. [Twa.]

BLYTHE may the man be that fears the LORD; an' likes weel till bide by his biddens:

2 His out-come an' a' sal be gran' in the lan'; the race o' the rightous is blessed.

3 Rowth an' plenty sal be in his houss; an' his right, it sal ay be fu' sikker.

4 Light i' the mirkness, wins up for the right; he's gude, an' he's kind, an' he's rightous.

5 The man that's gude can be kind, an' can lend; an' ay keeps his word at the rightin.

6 For nevir sae lang, he winna gae wrang; ay in guid eneugh mind, is the rightous.

7 At the sugh o' mischieff, nae dread has he; stieve stan's his heart in JEHOVAH.

8 Sae sikker's his heart is, nae dread can he hae; till he sees far ayont a' his cumber.

9 He sends far an' near, he can gie till the puir; his rightousness stan's for evir; an' in gloiry his horn sal be heigher.

10 The ill-doer sal see, an' sal fyke; he sal grush wi' his teeth, an' sal thowe frae the dyke: the will o' the wicked sal dwinnle.

Psalm CXIII.

Anither lilt o' laud. The LORD leuks owre the heighest; the LORD leuks down till the laighest.

Hallelujah. [Three.]

LAUD ye the LORD, ye folk o' his ain; laud ye the name o' JEHOVAH.

2 Sae blythe may the name o' JEHOVAH be; frae the now, till nae end o' time comin.

3 Frae the sun's gaen abune, till the time he gaes down, the name o' the LORD's to be laudit.

4 Owre a' the hethen, JEHOVAH's heigh; owre the lift itsel, his gloiry.

5 Wha's like the LORD, that's God o' our ain; wha sets him sae heigh in his biggen?

6 Wha louts him sae laigh till leuk wi' his een, on the lift an' the lan' aneth him!

7 He lifts the forfairn frae the stoure; he raxes the puir frae the ase-pit:

8 Till set him alang wi' the best; alang wi' the best o' his kinsfolk.

9 The wanter he sets in a houss o' her ain; an' e'en maks her blythe, the mither o' weans. Hallelujah!

Psalm CXIV.

Whan the LORD steers, how the yirth maun dinnle; heights an' howes can trimmie baith.

[By wha's no said.]

WHAN Israel wan but frae Mizra'm; an' Jakob's houss frae folk that war frem:

2 Judah's sel was his halie howff; an' Israel was his kingryk than.

3 The Sea, it saw, an' swakket awa; Jordan gaed bak in dams:

4 The hills, they lap like thrawart tups; the knowes, like speanin lams.

5 What ail'd ye, Sea, ye swakket sae; Jordan, that ye gaed wrang?

6 Hills, that ye lap like warslin tups; an' ye knowes, like speanin lams?

7 At sight o' the LORD, Yirth, ye maun steer; at the sight o' Jakob's GUDE:

8 Wha swappit the wust for a stank sae clear; the flint, for a watir-flude!

Psalm CXV.

Like draws to like, the warld owre: Fulish folk maun hae feckless gods; folk that ken better, hae God the LORD.

[By wha's no said.]

No till oursels, LORD, no till us; bot a' till that name o' yer ain, for yer gudeness an' e'en for yer trewth, gie the gloiry.

2 What-for suld the hethen say, Whar syne is that God they aught?

3 Bot that God o' our ain, 's i' the lift by himlane; what he liket himsel, he has wrought.

4 Their eidols are siller an' gowd; the wark o' folk's han's o' the yird:

5 Thar's a mouthe o' their ain, bot they canna speak; an' een o' their ain, bot they see-na:

6 They hae lugs o' their ain, bot they canna hear; an' a nose o' their ain, bot they smell-na:

7 Han's hae they, bot they han'le nane; an' feet, bot they winna steer: no a sugh hae they, ben their craig.

8 Like themsels are the folk, wha can mak sic gear; an' a' that lippen till them!

9 Lippen ye till the LORD, O Israel; their stoop an' their schild's himlane.

10 O Aaron's houss, lippen ye till the LORD; their stoop an' their schild is he:

11 Wha fear the LORD, lippen ye till the LORD; their stoop an' their schild he'll be.

12 The LORD has guid min' o' oursel: he sal bless an' blythe-bid the houss o' Isr'el; Aaron's houss blythe-bid sal he:

13 He sal blythe-bid a' wha fear the LORD; the sma', wi' the heigh o' degree.

14 The LORD sal mak mair o' ye, ay; mak ye mair, an' mak mair o' yer weans!

15 O blythe be ye a' in the LORD, wha made baith the lift an' the lan':

16 The lift, aye the lift, it's the LORD's; bot the lan' he has gien till men's sons.

17 The dead can gie nae Hallelujahs; nor nane wha gang down till the lown:

18 Bot oursel, we maun blythe-bid JEHOVAH; frae the now an' for evir an' ay: Laud HIMLANE.

Psalm CXVI.

The Lord's the stievest stoop in a' stretts: Folk maun speak as they think, tho' they're whiles wrang: We're behadden to the LORD himlane,for a' that's gude an' true.

[By wha's no said.]

THE LORD I loe weel, for he hearkens, till the sugh o' my biddens an' a':

2 For he louts his lug to mysel; I maun skreigh, sae lang as 'am livin ava'.

3 The dules o' dead wan about me; an' the stouns o' the lang-hame sought me sair: hamper an' cumber, I kenn'd them baith:

4 Syne I skreigh'd, i' the name o' the LORD; Ah now, O LORD! redd my life frae skaith.

5 The LORD, he's fu' gude an' fu' rightous; our God, he's fu' kindly an' a':

6 The LORD, he leuks weel to the weakly; forfochten was I, and he heal'd me a'.

7 Haud ye hame to the lown again, O my saul; for the LORD'S been fu' gude to yerlane:

8 For my life, ye wrought but frae the dead; my een frae a tear, my feet frae the birse o' a stane.

9 E'en sae sal I fuhre, wi' the LORD to the fore, in the lan' o' livin men.

10 I trystit sae weel, I spak sae leal; wi' mylane, I was sairly dang thro':

11 An' quo' I my ain gate, whan I cou'd-na wait, No ae yird-born loon o' them's true.

12 What syne sal I gie, till the LORD for a fee, for his double o' gude to mysel?

13 The stoup o' heal-ha'din I'll heize fu' hie, an' the name o' the LORD sal out-tell:

14 My trysts till the LORD, I maun e'en mak them guid; aye, in face o' his peopil a'.

15 Sair i' the sight o' the LORD, is the dead o' the folk he loes weel.

16 Hae pitie, LORD; yer ain loon am I: yer loon, mylane; yer ain maiden's son: my thirlban's, ye lowse'd them forby.

17 An offer o' laud I maun lift till thee; i' the name o' the LORD, I maun cry.

18 My trysts till the LORD, I maun e'en mak them guid; aye, in face o' his peopil a':

19 In the faulds o' the LORD'S ain houss; in the midds o' yersel, Jerusalem: Ye maun e'en gie laud till JAH.

Psalm CXVII.

A lilt o' laud for a' livin folk.

[By wha's no said.]

GIE laud till the LORD, O a' ye folk; laud ye Himsel, a' niebor kin:

2 For heigh owre oursel, 's his gudeness gran'; an' the truth o' the LORD for ay sal win: Hallelujah!


Wha, sae weel as his ain, can ken the gudeness o' God: i' the field an' the fauld, he stoops them; his han' maks their houss an' hame.

[By wha's no said.]

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

2 Lat Israel say siclike; for his gudeness, it tholes for ay:

3 Lat Aaron's houss say siclike for his gudeness, it tholes for ay:

4 Lat wha fear the LORD say siclike; for his gudeness, it tholes for ay.

5 I skreigh'd till the LORD in stretts; an' wi' scowth, the LORD hearken'd till me.

6 The LORD himsel's on my side; I care-na what man does till me:

7 The LORD's wi' my frien's, forby; atowre my ill-willers I'll see.

8 It's better to bide on the LORD, nor to lippen till bairns o' the yird:

9 It's better to bide on the LORD, nor till lippen the heighest laird.

10 The folk, ane an' a', wan about me; i' the name o' the LORD, I maun sned them by!

11 About, an' about, they wan roun' me; i' the name o' the LORD, I maun sned them by!

12 They byket about me, like bees; they gaed down like a bleeze o' thorns: i' the name o' the LORD, I maun sned them by!

13 Ye schot at me sair, till ding me owre; bot the LORD, he was stoop till me.

14 My strenth an' my sang, is the LORD; an' eke, my heal-ha'din sal be.

15 It's the sugh o' a sang an' heal-ha'din, they're baith wi' gude folk i' the shiels; for the right han' itsel o' JEHOVAH, it ay maks the surest bield:

16 The right-han' itsel o' JEHOVAH, it raxes atowre sae weel; the right-han' itsel o' JEHOVAH, it ay maks the surest bield.

17 Nane sal I die, bot sal livin be; an' the warks o' the LORD, I sal tell:

18 The LORD, he might ettle till ding me sair; bot till dead, he wad ne'er gie mysel.

19 O rax till me wide, the yetts o' the gude; it's by them I 'se win ben, whan I ettle the LORD till laud:

20 For that's ay the yett till the LORD; by its-lane sal the rightous win ben.

21 Laud till yersel I maun gie, for ye hearken'd till me; an' help ye been ay till me syne.

22 The stane the biggers wad nane o', the head o' the neuk it has been:

23 Frae the LORD himlane, siclike maun hae fa'n; an' a ferlie it stan's in our een.

24 A day siclike, 's the wark o' the LORD; blythe an' fu' fain lat us be tharin:

25 Fy haste ye, LORD; ye maun help accord: fy haste ye, LORD; ye maun gar us win!

26 O blythe be the wight that fuhres, i' the name o' JEHOVAH'S sel; blythe hae we bidden ye a', frae the houss o' the LORD himlane.

27 It's God the LORD, gies us light; thirl ye the hansel, wi' ban's fu' tight, till the horns o' the altar-stane.

28 God o' my ain are ye, till yersel I maun gloiry gie; my God, I maun heize ye hie!

29 Gie laud till the LORD, for he's gude; for his gudeness for evir sal be!

Psalm CXIX.

Mony a line o' laud for the Law, and mony a tryst till bide by its biddens, ye sal find i' this lang, weel-wrought, weel-wordit Psalm.

[By wha's no here said; aiblins by David in his young days, or i' the lown at his leasure, as he gaed frae houss till ha' amang his enemies: leuk verses 54, 79, 84, 86, an' 176. Ca'd by the LXX. Hallelujah.]


A' STRAUGHT i' the gate, do weel; wha gang by the law o' the LORD:

2 A' wairdin his will, do weel; seekin him wi' their heart's accord.

3 An' eke, they do nae fobie; bot ay in his gate they steer:

4 As ye hae gien sic commaun, till bide by yer biddens clear.

5 An my gate war but sikkerly set; till haud by yer tryst 'am fain:

6 An' syne I sal ne'er be scham't, whan I leuk till yer biddens ilk ane.

7 A' laud, wi' leal heart, I'se gie thee; whan I ken yer right-rechtins sae trew:

8 An yer trysts I but sikkerly keep, O cast me-na far frae you!


9 By what sal a chield redd his gate? till haud by the thing ye say:

10 By my heart its-lane, I hae sought yersel; lat me ne'er frae yer biddens gae.

11 Ben i' my heart, I hae happit yer word; that I ne'er suld gae wrang wi' thee:

12 Bless'd an' blythe, O LORD, are yerlane; gie wit o' yer trysts till me.

13 But frae my lips, I hae sent the count o' yer ain right-rechtins a':

14 By the gate o' yer trysts I hae blyther been, nor wi' a' the gear cou'd fa'.

15 Biddens o' thine, I sal sigh on them; an' tent the gates ye gang:

16 Blythely bide i' yer trysts sal I; yer tellin I 'se ne'er think lang.


17 Gie eneugh till yer servan', LORD; I sal live, an' haud weel by yer word:

18 Gar open my een, I sal see the ferlies o' thy record.

19 Gangrel, gang I on the yird; hide nane yer commauns frae me:

20 Gane is my saul wi' the pyne, for yer rightins, a' day, that I dree.

21 Gin ye winna wyte the proud; the curst, wha gae by yer commauns:

22 Gibin an' jeerin put far frae me; for yer biddens I thole i' my han's.

23 Gabbin again me the foremaist sat; bot yer leal-man thought ay on yer law:

24 Grand pleasure yer biddens gie ay till me; for they are the men o' my ha'.


25 Dang down i' the stoure, is my saul; gar me live, as yersel avise'd:

26 Descrivit my gate, hae I; ye hae hearken'd: tell me yer trysts.

27 Draught me the gate o' yer laws; I sal think on yer wonner-warks syne:

28 Dreepin awa is my saul, wi' kiaugh; haud me up, wi' that word o' thine.

29 Ding the gate o' a lie, far far frae me; bot gie me braw scowth i' yer law:

30 Dearly I loe the gate that's true; yer right-rechtins, I ettle them a'.

31 Deep i' yer trysts am I; O LORD, lat me ne'er hing my head:

32 Dinkly I'll gae the gate ye say, an my heart ye but set abread.


33 Airt me, O LORD, the gate o' yer trysts; an' I 'se haud it, as sikker as gear:

34 E'en gie me lear, an' I 'se keep yer law: na, I 'se waird it, wi' heart heal an' fere.

35 Airt me the gate o' yer ain commauns; for till it, am I uncoly fain:

36 Even my heart till a' ye say; an' no wi' greed till grein.

37 Haud-by my een frae glowrin at nought; in yer ain gate gar me steer:

38 Heigh owre yer loon, heize up yer tryst; wha louts fu' laigh i' yer fear.

39 Haud-by the scorn I dread sae sair; for yer rightins, they're a' sae stieve:

40 Hae I no sought yer visitins? i' yer rightousness, gar me live.


41 Weise me ance mair yer gudeness, LORD; an' yer heal-ha'din, e'en as ye spak:

42 Wyssly syne, till scorners o' mine; for I lippen yer word, I'll speak bak.

43 Word syne o' truth, frae out my mouthe, tak ye-na clean awa; for I lippen yer rightins a':

44 Weel syne sal I waird, for evir an' ay, yer ain maist aefauld law.

45 Wi' walth o' gate, I'se daiker syne; for I haud yer commauns at need:

46 Word syne o' yer wairnins, I'se wair on kings; an' sal ne'er hing down my head.

47 Wi' wonner-will, I'se waught my fill o' yer biddens I loe sae weel:

48 Will heize my han's till yer dear commauns, an' lout owre yer statutes leal!


49 Seek owre the word, ye spak till yer loon; on whilk ye gar'd me to lippen:

50 Siclike was a' my content in my care; for yer word it was, keepit me livin.

51 Sae sair as the proud, they scorn'd at me; frae that law o' yer ain I ne'er sought:

52 Sae lang sen-syne, yer rightins I mind; an', LORD, I was kindly wrought.

53 Sic dreid, it cam owre me syne; for the ill, wha mak light o' yer law:

54 Sangs till me, yer statutes be; in the houss whar 'am frem an' a'.

55 Zit a' the night, I mindet yer name; O LORD, an' yer law I keepit:

56 Zat ay was my ain, till haud fu' fain; for I wairded a' that ye threepit.


57 Ha'din o' mine are ye, LORD; yer words, quo' I, I suld mind:

58 Heal-hearted, I sought yer face; till mysel, as ye plighted, be kind.

59 How far I gaed wrang, I cou'd tell; till yer laws syne, I airted my gaens:

60 Hastit, an' swither'd I nane; till haud by yer ain commauns.

61 Hail droves o' wrang-doers rave me in twa; bot I ne'er loot yer law frae my sight:

62 Half i' the mirk, I wauken me up; till lilt o' yer rightins right.

63 Halvers gang I, wi' a' that fear thee; an' wha mind yer wairnins weel:

64 How yer gudeness, LORD, the yirth fu'fills; mak me till yer trystins leal!


65 The thing that's gude, till yer leal-man, LORD; ye hae dune, siclike as ye spak:

66 Thole me till learn what's right an' wyss; for my tryst, on yer biddens, I tak.

67 Thole'd I ne'er yet, I gaed wrang wi' my fit; bot sen-syne, I hae wairded yer word:

68 The GUDE an' gude-doer, YERLANE are ye; tell me yer trystins, LORD.

69 Threepit on me the haughty a lie; bot yer biddens I keepit, wi' heart fu' leal:

70 Theekit, e'en as wi' talch, is that heart o' theirs; bot yer law, mylane I liket it weel.

71 Think weel for me, for I thole the dree, o' yer trysts to be wyss fu'filler:

72 The weight o' yer word's worth mair till me, nor thousans o' gowd an' siller!


73 Yer han's me made, an' sikker me stay'd; gie me wit, an' yer biddens I'll ken:

74 Yersel wha fear, sal see me syne; an' be blythe, on yer word that I fen'.

75 Yer rightins, LORD, I ken they're right; an' in truth ye hae cuisten me down:

76 Yer pitie till hearten me, come, I pray; as ye spak till yer faithfu' loon.

77 Yer kindness win till me, an' syne I sal live; for yer law, 's my delight an' mair:

78 Ye maun daunt the proud, for they ding me wi' lies; but I sigh owre yer visits, sair.

79 Yont till me, a' wha fear thee, an' wha ken yer biddens, sal rin:

80 Yare be my heart, in thae trysts o' yer ain; an' till schame, I sal nevir win.


81 Clean gane is my saul, for that help o' thine; bot I lippen me ay till yer word:

82 Clean gane are my een, for that word o' yer ain; sayan, Whan will ye comfort accord?

83 Clung tho' I be, like a skin i' the reek, yer trysts I dinna forget:

84 Count like how lang yer loon maun thole, or ye right wha wrang me yet.

85 Canny, for me, the proud scoupit their sheughs; siclike, they war ne'er i' yer law:

86 Commauns o' thine, they're true ilk ane; saikless they seek me; help me an' a'.

87 Clean i' the yirth, they maist sweel'd me owre; but ne'er frae yer trysts did I swee:

88 Keep me, like yer gudeness, livin ay, an' I'll bide by ilk bidden ye gie.


89 LORD, lang or langsyne, yer word stan's i' the lift:

90 Lat folk come an' gang, yer truth it maun stan'; ye ettled the yirth, no till shift.

91 Like as ye gied commaun, the day they can stan', for they're a' but thirls o' yer ain:

92 'Less nor yer law war a' my delight; in my dule, I had dwinnle'd an' gane.

93 Lang lang it maun be, or yer biddens I flee; for wi' them, ye haud me on live;

94 LORD, 'am yer ain, saif me mylane; for yer biddens I'd fain descrive.

95 Leukin till fell me, ill folk they war keen; bot mysel, I thought weel on yer law:

96 Like till a' that 's finish'd, an end I hae seen; yer commaun, it braids unco' braw.


97 Meikle loe I yer law! it's thought till me, a' the day lang:

98 Mair nor my faes, ye taught me yer commauns; for ay till mysel they belang.

99 Mair nor a' my maisters, hae I o' lear; for yer trystins, they're a' my thought:

100 Mair nor the auldest, hae I o' wit; for yer biddens, right canny I wrought.

101 My feet I hae wairded, frae ilka wrang gate; ay for I keepit yer word:

102 Mysel, frae yer rightins, I ne'er turn'd awa; for yerlane, ye hae taught me, LORD.

103 Mair nor hynnie intil my mouthe, how sweet are yer words i' my hals:

104 Mylane, I hae learn'd frae yer biddens weel; syne, I hate ilka gate that's fause.


105 Night-light till my feet, is that word o' yer ain; an' ay whar I gang, it's bright:

106 Nane sal I steer, frae the word I swear; till haud by yer rightins right.

107 Nar gane was I clean, sae uncoly dune; LORD, wauken me yet, as ye spak:

108 Na, the gift o' my mouthe, lat it pleasure ye, LORD; an' yer rightins, fu' clear till me mak.

109 No, tho' my life's been ay in my loof, hae I forgotten yer law:

110 No, tho' ill folk set a net for me, frae yer biddens hae I fa'n awa.

111 Ne'er till tine, yer tellins are mine; for my heart's content are they evir:

112 Na, my heart I sal lout till do yer statutes, till the end o' a' time thegither.


113 Senseless thoughts, I mislike them a'; bot that law o' yer ain, I loe weel:

114 Shaltir an' schild till me baith, are ye; till yer word, I hae lippen'd fu' leal.

115 Swith, awa frae me syne, ye ill-doers a'; I maun keep the commauns o' my Gude:

116 Stoop me e'en as ye said, I sal live; an' ne'er for my houp hing my head.

117 Stoop me, an' syne I'll be saif; an' ay, till yer biddens, tak tent:

118 Sterk on the grun', ye lay tryst-breakers a'; for their lie, but a scham sal be kent.

119 Sinners a', frae the yirth, ye soop by like stoure; an' sae, o' yer trystins 'am glaid:

120 Sair trimmles my bouk, wi' dread o' thee; an' sair at yer rightins 'am fley'd.


121 Ay right an' rightousness, I hae dune; till my ill-willers' will dinna lea' me:

122 Ay be yer thirlman's ban' for gude; lat-na the haughty plea me:

123 Ay for yer help, my een they gae dune; an' eke for yer ain right-rechtin:

124 Ay wi' yer thirlman, do as ye like; an' thae trysts o' yer ain, gie me light in.

125 E'en till yersel, a loon am I; gie me wit, an' gar ken yer bidden:

126 E'en now, LORD, it's time ye suld up an' do; yer law, they hae clean out-ridden.

127 E'en sae, I think mair o' yer will; nor o' gowd, an' a' that's fine o't:

128 E'en sae, a' ye bid I sal haud it right: an' ilk liean gate, I'll hae nane o't.


129 Fu' mighty are thy commauns; e'en sae, my saul wairds them weel:

130 Fu' clear comes a blink o' yer words; makin wyss the weanliest chiel.

131 Fu' wide rax't I my mouthe; an' sighed, for I sought yer will:

132 Fy, glint on mysel, an' be kind till me; as, till wha loe yer name, ye do still.

133 Fit me weel as I gang, i' yer word; an' lat nae wrang hae right on me:

134 Fesh me hame frae the grip o' the carl; syne, heed till yer tellins I'll gie.

135 Fu' bright be yer leuk on yer loon; an' ay gar me ken yer will:

136 Fludes, frae my een they rin down; for yer law they can follow but ill.


137 'T's rightous, O LORD, are ye yersel; an' upright, yer rightins a':

138 'T's right are the tellins ye gie furth; an' they're truth itsel an' a'.

139 Zele o' my ain, it sweel'd me up; for yer words, my ill-willers forhow'd:

140 Zat word o' zine, it's clear'd sae fine; yer thirlman, he bee's till loe 't.

141 'T's but sma' am I, an' little set-by; bot yer biddens, I ne'er forget.

142 'T's right for ay, yer rightins are they; an' yer law, it's the truth compleat.

143 Strett an' skaithe, they fand me baith; yer commauns, they war jole till me:

144 Stays for ay, the right ye say; gie me wit, an' I 'se thole a wee.


145 Quo' I wi' a skreigh frae a' the heart, Hearken me, LORD, yer trysts I'll tide:

146 Quo' I till yersel, wi' a skreigh; Heal me, an' yer biddens I'll bide.

147 Keppir the light hae I; an' I cry'd; for yer word I was fain.

148 Keppit my een the slakkens o' night; till sigh on that word o' yer ain.

149 Quaiet my din, o' yer gudeness, LORD; o' yer rightousness, haud me on live:

150 Quha wark mischieff, they win owre nar han'; awa frae yer law, they thrive.

151 Quha but yer lane suld be nar me, LORD; an' a' yer commauns o' truth!

152 Quhile or now, o' yer tellins I trew; that ye founded them weel, lang eneugh.


153 Rew on my sorrow, and redd me but; for yer law I dinna forget:

154 Redd my plea, an' ransom me; for yer ain word, wauken me yet.

155 Rax't far eneugh, is help frae the rough; for yer tellins, they seek-na ava':

156 Right mony, LORD, 's yer kind accords; wauken me, wi' yer rightins an' a'.

157 Right mony, they rax an' rive at me; bot ne'er frae yer biddens I steer'd:

158 Right-wrangers I saw, an' fash'd mysel sair; for yer words, siclike they ne'er waird.

159 Rax an' trew, gin yer biddens I loe; o' yer gudeness, LORD, wauken me:

160 Rute o' yer word, it's been truth itsel; syne right, a' ye right, maun ay be.


161 Sair till win on me, the foremaist sought; at yer words syne, my heart sheuk wi' fear:

162 Sae blythe was I, owre that word o' yer ain, as I had fand unco gear.

163 Shaughlin talk, I thole waur an' waur; it's yer law, I like sae weel:

164 Seven times a day, I gie laud till yersel; for thae rightins o' thine sae leal.

165 Shaltir sae lown, 's for wha be yer law; an' nought sal be, till skew them:

166 Sure eneugh, LORD, I leuk for yer help; an' thae biddens o' thine, I gae thro' them.

167 Sae weel 's my saul wairds yer tellins a'; an' o, but I loe them dearly:

168 Sae weel 's I waird baith yer will an' yer word; for my gate, it's a' kent till ye clearly.


169 Till yer sight, O LORD, lat my skreigh win nar; an' e'en as ye said, gie me wit:

170 Till yer sight, lat my weary bidden win ben; an' e'en as ye spak, redd me but.

171 Thir lips o' mine, sal gie laud till ye fine; for yer tellins, till me ye taught:

172 This tongue o' my ain, yer word sal mak plain; for a' yer biddens are straught.

173 That han' o' thine, maun be stoop o' mine; for yer tellins I tak them right:

174 Thole'd I lang, LORD, for the health ye accord; an' yer law, it's my vera delight.

175 Thrive lat my life, it sal laud yersel; for yer rightins, they stoop me yet.

176 Thoughtless I gaed, like a sheep was stray'd; weise roun' yer loon; for yer biddens I dinna forget.

Psalm CXX.

David, wi' sair warsle, wad fain win hame till Zioun; his ill-willers syne maun thole the gree.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

TILL the LORD, in my stretts I could scraigh; an' he hearken'd till me mylane:

2 LORD, ye maun redd my life; frae the liean lips, frae the guilefu' tongue!

3 What maun be dune wi' yersel? what sal befa' ye yet? tongue that sae fause can gang!

4 Flanes o' the mighty, fu' snell; wi' flaughts o' the bleezan rung.

5 Wae 's me, intil Mesech I bade sae lang! or taigled in howffs o' Kedar!

6 O'er lang wi' siclike I hae wair'd my time; wi' the loon that cares-na for kindness.

7 Kindness I ettle mysel; bot ay when I crack, it's for ill they're.

Psalm CXXI.

David lippens till the heights abune Zioun; an' till him that's abune the heights.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

TILL the heights, I maun cast my een; whar else can my help come frae?

2 My help's frae the LORD himlane; wha made baith the lift an' the lan'.

3 Yer fit he winna lat steer; nor dover, wha hauds ye heal:

4 Na, he neither dovers nor sleeps, wha keeps waird upon Israel.

5 The LORD, he's yer keeper an' a': the LORD sal be sconce till thee; on yer han', on yer ain right han'.

6 The sun sal-na blight ye by day; nor the mune, as scho gangs the night thro'.

7 The LORD, he sal waird ye frae ilka ill; yer life, he sal waird it weel:

8 The LORD, he sal waird yer gaen-out an' gaen-in, for evir an' ay, frae the now!

Psalm CXXII.

David's fu' blythe o' Zioun; whar he sal he King an' a'.

A sang o' the Upgaens; ane o' David's.

FU' fain was I whan they said to mysel, Till the houss o' the LORD lat us gang:

2 Our feet, they sal stan' i' thae yetts o' yer ain, Jerusalem.

3 Jerusalem's bigget fu' braw; like a brugh bigget a' by itslane:

4 For thar, niebor-kins, they maun gather an' a': the LORD's niebor-kins; the trysts o' Israel; till gie laud, to the name o' the LORD, wi' a sang.

5 For thar now are dight, the throns o' the right; the throns o' King David's line!

6 Seek ye for the lown o' Jerusalem: fu' lown sal they be, wha wiss weel till thee.

7 Peace be ay on yer dykes; an' lown in yer biggins sae fine!

8 For my brether's saik, for my niebors' saik, I maun e'en cry, Lown be in thee!

9 For the houss o' the LORD, that's God o' our ain, I maun seek a' that's guid for thee!


God's folk, down-cuisten, leuk lang for Himsel.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

TILL yersel I cast up my een, O ye wha bide i' the lift.

2 Like as thirlfolk's een, till their maisters' han', like as maidens' een, till their mistress' han'; e'en sae our ain een, till the LORD our God, they leuk up, till he rew upon us.

3 Rew on us, LORD, O rew upon us; for o scorn, we're as fou's we can bide:

4 Our life's taen a staw, at the skeigh o' the braw; an' the scorn o' wha hove wi' pride.

Psalm CXXIV.

What God's folk maun hae dree'd, an the LORD had-na been on their side.

A sang o' the Upgaens: ane o' David's.

AN the LORD had-na been for oursel, weel now may Israel say;

2 An the LORD had-na been for oursel, whan folk wan up on us fey;

3 Syne had they sweel'd us livin an' a', whan their wuth at oursel did reenge:

4 Syne had the watirs sweel'd us owre, the drift had gaen owre our lives:

5 Syne had the watirs, bremin heigh, gaen owre our sauls wi' a breinge.

6 Blythe be the LORD wha ettled us nane, for a glaum to the teeth o' siclike!

7 Our life, like a bird, it slippit the girn; the girn an' a,' 's been riven in twa; an' oursels, we hae clear'd the dyke.

8 Our stoop 's i' the name o' the LORD; wha made baith the lift an' the laigh.

Psalm CXXV.

God's folk like a town amang the hills; fu' lown an' cosy round it a'

A sang o' the Upgaens.

WHA lippen the LORD are like Zioun-hill; that win-na steer, an' that bides for ay.

2 Jerus'lem's sel, the heights haud her weel; sae the LORD himsel, his folk he can sweel, roun about; frae the now, an' for evir mair.

3 For the wrang-doer's rod winna stay for ay, on the shouthir o' rightous folk: for as meikle's the rightous ne'er rax't their han's, wi' ony mischieff to yoke.

4 Do weel, O LORD, till them that do weel; an' till them, that are straught i' their hearts:

5 Bot wha swee ay about i' their ravell'd gates, the LORD maun lat gang wi' the warkers o' wrang: bot lown-tide on Israel sal wait.

Psalm CXXVI.

Whan God's folk war lowse'd frae ban', they cam hame like a spate on the lan'.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

WHAN the LORD fush her thirldom hame till Zioun, like doveran folk war we:

2 Syne was our mouthe wi' laughin fou; an' our tongue, it was liltin free. syne quo' they amang hethen folk, Fu' grandly the LORD for them has wrought.

3 Fu' grandly the LORD, he cou'd do for us; an' weel may we blythesome be:

4 The LORD, he brought hame our thirldom a', like spates on the birstled lea.

5 Wha saw wi' a tear; wi' a sang they sal shear:

6 Wha greetin gangs out, wi' a lade o' gude seed; sal come hame wi' a lilt, an' his nieffu's o' corn fu' hie!


Livin folk 's ay better nor stane an' lime; an' biggin siclike for a houss till the LORD,'s his ain wark.

A sang o' the Upgaens: for Solomon.

AN JEHOVAH big-na the houss, they fash for nought, wha big at it; an JEHOVAH keep-na the brugh, he waukens for nought wha keeps waird onto 't.

2 It'll do ye nae guid till steer or light, till bide late at night, eatin yer bread wi' a pingle: for till them he loes weel, he gies sleep.

3 Na, bairns are the LORD'S heritage; the mither's fraught, his fee.

4 Like flanes in the han' o' some mighty wight, sae new-fund folk maun be.

5 Blythe be the wight wi' a sheaf o' siclike; no blate sal they be, but sal crack fu' hie, till wha wiss them ill, i' the yett.


A braw bouss, baith but an' ben, wi' guid till fen', hae the rightous.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

O BLYTHE may ilk ane be, wi' dread o' the LORD; wha gangs i' thae gates o' his ain:

2 Whan ye pree o' the wark o' yer han's; fu' blythe sal ye be, an' fu' weel sal ye fen' yerlane.

3 Yer gudewife, like the fraughtit vine, by the sconce o' yer houss sal stan'; yer weans, round about yer meltith-buird, sal growe like the olive wands.

4 E'en sae, sae blythe sal the wight be, wha lives in the dread o' the LORD.

5 The LORD sal blythe-bid ye frae Zioun; an' on a' that's guid in Jerus'lem, ye sal leuk ilka day o' yer life.

6 Ye sal e'en see yer bairns' bairns, an' lown intil Israel rife!


A lifetime's wrang wad be owre lang: heartless wark, shearin ill corn.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

SAE sair as they wrought me frae bairn-time; weel now may Israel say:

2 Sae sair as they wrought me, frae bairn-time; an' ne'er mann'd abune me till stay.

3 On my riggin, the plewers they plew'd; an' lang eneugh furs they drew:

4 The rightous LORD, he sned the coid o' that wrang-deedie crew!

5 They hang the head, an' hame they gaed; that wiss'd ill to Zioun, ilk ane.

6 Like gerss on the riggin, war they; afore ye can sned it, it 's gane.

7 Jimply the shearer can fill his han'; or the banster his bosom pang:

8 Nor naebody says Gude speed wi' yo; We blythe-bid yo a' i' the name o' the LORD; as they fuhre the gate alang.

Psalm CXXX.

Frae the laighest flude, God's guidin's guid: an' he's no half sae stoor as he's ca'd.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

FRAE the deeps sae awesome dread, O LORD, I hae scraigh'd till thee:

2 Hearken, O LORD, till my scraigh; till the sugh o' my weary bidden, yer lugs lat them loutit be.

3 LORD, an ye leuk at fauts, wha syne, LORD, cou'd stan' ava'?

4 Bot pitie 's been ay wi' yersel, for sae stoor's ye been thought an' a'.

5 I hae leuk'd for JEHOVAH lang; my life, it has leukit this while; na, on his word I hae stoopit me sair.

6 My life, it leuks mair for the LORD, nor them wha leuk for the mornin; wha leuk for the mornin ere.

7 Lat Israel lippen JEHOVAH, for ay wi' JEHOVAH thar's rewth; an' rowth o' remead wi' himsel.

8 An' it's Him, frae his ain wrang - doens, sal cannily redd Israel.

Psalm CXXXI.

David, till be sae uncoly thought on, keeps ay a lown sugh by himlane.

A sang o' the Upgaens: ane o' David's.

MY heart, O LORD, was-na haughty; nor my een, they hae-na been heigh: nor no, wi' sic ferlies afore me, hae I gaen govan skeigh.

2 O gin I hae-na been quaiet! an' gin I hae-na whush'd my thought; like a wean, that's been spean'd frae his mither, my life on mylane it's been wrought.

3 Till JEHOVAH, lat Israel lippen; frae the now, till o' time thar's nought


David, wi' a sair facht, an' mony a waukrife thought, ettles a braw hame-comin an' a lown neuk for the LORD on Zioun.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

LORD, hae min' o' David, and a' the cumber he stude:

2 How he swure an aith till JEHOVAH, how he trystit till Jakob's Gude:

4 I winna gie sleep till my een; or rest to my winkers, I rede:

5 Till I 'seen a neuk for JEHOVAH; an' hingins for Jakob's Gude!

6 We heard word o't, or lang, at Ephraatah; we fand 't in the bauks o' the wood:

7 Lat us ben till the sconce o' his hingins; lat us lout at his ain fit-brod!

8 Up, LORD, till yer shielin sae canny; yersel, an' the ark o' yer tryste:

9 Yer priests, lat them wear what fits them; yer sants, lat them lilt fu' loud:

10 An' for sake o' David, yer lealman, turn awa-na the face o' yer Chryst.

11 The LORD swure an aith till David, sae sikker he win-na gae frae 't: On that thron o' yer ain, frae that lisk o' yer ain, till yer outcome I'se ay gie a seat.

12 Yer weans, gin they waird weel my trystin, an' my bidden I taught them syne; than bairns o' their ain, ay for evir, sal sit on that thron o' thine.

13 For the LORD, he sought lang for Zioun; whar he liket himsel to bide:

14 Sic-like, quo' he, my ain rest sal be; for evir an' ay, it's here I'll stay; for I like it sae weel mysel.

15 Her victual, I'll blythe-bid fu' blythely; her hungry, I'll stegh wi' bread:

16 Her priests, I maun cleed wi' heal-ha'din; her sants, they sal lilt fu' glaid:

17 Thar I sal gar growe King David's horn; an' a light, for my chrystit I'll nouriss:

18 His ill-willers eke, I sal cleed wi' scorn; bot his crown on himsel, it sal flouriss.


Gude-will, like gude oyle, rins weel an' gangs far.

A sang o' the Upgaens ane o' David's.

SEE syne, how gude an' how braw, for frien's to bide weel thegither!

2 Like the oyle sae gude, that was toom'd on the head; it cou'd rin on the beard, ontil Aaron's beard, that gaed till the neuk o' his manteel:

3 Like the dewy weet that comes down compleat, frae Hermon ontil Mount Zioun: for it 's thar the LORD ettles the blythest bode; life that sal bide for evir


God's folk, they maun laud him night an' day.

A sang o' the Upgaens.

SYNE ye maun laud the LORD, a' ye loons o' JEHOVAH's ain: wha bide in the houss o' the LORD, the lee-lang night yerlane.

2 Ye maun heize yer han's till his halie howff, an' blythe-bid the LORD himlane.

3 The LORD frae Zioun blythe-bid yersel; wha wrought baith the lift an' the lan'.

Psalm CXXXV.

The hail houss o' Israel, wha hae heen weel tell'd, an' wha ken brawly a' that the LORD has dune for them, suld laud the LORD for his gudeness sae lang's Mount Zioun stan's.

[By wha's no said.] Hallelujah.

LAUD ye the name o' JEHOVAH; gie laud, ye loons o' the LORD:

2 Wha bide in the houss o' JEHOVAH; in the faulds o' the houss o' our God.

3 Hallelujah! for gude is JEHOVAH; lilt ye till his name, for it's braw:

4 For Jakob, till Himsel, the LORD singled; Israel, for his hirsel an' a'.

5 For brawly I ken, the LORD he's fu' gran'; an' that Laird o' our ain, 's ayont a' gods o' the lan'.

6 Whate'er the LORD likes he can do, in the lift an' the lan's in the fludes an' ilk awesome howe.

7 Wha carries the mists frae the neuks o' the lan'; the flaughts o' lowe, till a spate he can thowe; an' he airts but the win' frae its awmries.

8 Wha dang the first-born o' Mizraam; o' beast an' o' body baith.

9 Wha airtit sic trysts atowre, an' sic ferlies, in midds o' yersel, Mizraam; on Pharaoh, an' a' Pharaoh's loons.

10 Wha dang fu' mony folk; an' fell'd the starkest kings:

11 Like Sihon, king o' the Amorites; an' like Og, the king o' Bashan; an' like a' thae kings o' Canaan:

12 An' ettled their lan' for a ha'din, a ha'din till Israel his aih.

13 LORD, yer name's evir-lastin; an' min' o' yersel, O JEHOVAH, frae kith till kin it can stan'.

14 For the LORD, he sal right-recht his peopil; an' rew on his servans a'.

15 The gudes o' the hethen's but siller an' gowd; the wark o' folk's han's o' the yird:

16 Thar's a mouthe o' their ain, bot they canna speak; een o' their ain, bot they see-na:

17 Tha're lugs o' their ain, bot they canna hear; no, nor nevir ae sugh i' their hals is.

18 Sic-like are they a', wha can mak sic gear; an' a', wha can lippen until them.

19 O Israel's houss, bless ye the LORD; O Aaron's houss, bless ye the LORD:

20 O Levi's houss, bless ye the LORD; wha fear the LORD, bless ye the LORD:

21 Blythe be the LORD, frae Zioun; wha bides at Jerusalem still. Hallelujah!


A lilt o' laud on God's warks, wi' an owrecome ay on his gudeness.

[By wha's no said.]

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

2 Gie laud till the God o' gods; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

3 Gie laud till the LORD o' Lords for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

4 Till wha by himlane wrought ferlies sae gran'; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

5 Till wha wrought the lift wi' the slight o' his han'; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

6 Till wha rax't the yirth atowre the fludes; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

7 Till wha wrought the lights sae gran' an' bright; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

8 The sun till be laird, sae langs it's light; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

9 The mune an' the stern, till hae gree by night; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

10 Till wha dang Mizraam, in their first-born a'; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

11 An' redd but Isra'l frae the midds o' them a'; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

12 Wi' a hand o' might, an' an arm outright; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

13 Till wha synder'd the tangly sea in twa; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

14 An' fuhred Israel atowre, atween the twa; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

15 Bot whamle'd Pharaoh, folk an' a', in that sea o' the tangly tide; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

16 Till wha airtit syne his ain folk, in the muir; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

17 Till wha dang mighty kings atowre; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

18 An' racket kings baith stieve an' stoor; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

19 Sihon, till wit, the Am'rites king; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

20 An' Og, till wit, o' Bashan king; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

21 An' gie'd their lan' in ha'din free; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir:

22 Till Israel free, his ain loon till be; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

23 Wha mindet us ay, in a' our waes; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

24 An' rax't us atowre frae amang our faes; for his gudeness it tholes for evir:

25 Wha ettles bread for a' flesh an' bluid for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.

26 Gie laud till him that's God abune; for his gudeness, it tholes for evir.


A lilt o' dule in captivitie: nae sang o' the LORD's ava'.

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

BY Babel's fludes, thar we sat us down; an' we grat, as we mindet Zioun:

2 Our harps we hang the saughs amang, in the heart o' the town war growin.

3 For they plague't us sair, wha brought us thar, the turn o' a sang to gie them; an' wha wrought us wae, wad nought but play-cry'd, Sing us a sang o' Zioun!

4 Bot how sal we sing a JEHOVAH'S sang, on grun' that's ayont his keepin?

5 Gin I slight ye, Jerusalem; may my right-han' tine her slight!

6 My tongue gang dry i' my hals, an I think-na lang on thee; an I roose-na yersel, Jerusalem, abune a' that's dear to me!

7 O LORD, hae min' o' Edom's weans, in Jerusalem's day o' maen; how they cry'd, Ding her down! Ding her down! aye, down till the laighest stane.

8 An' Dochtir o' Babel, ye, that or lang maun wastit be; blythe be the wight that sal quat ye right, wi' sic-like as ye gar'd us dree.

9 Blythe sal he be that taks haud o'; an' gars yer bit weans, on the hard whinstanes, wi' a fling intil flinders flee!


A lilt o' laud till the LORD that's gude.

Ane o' David's.

I MAUN laud ye, LORD, wi' my heart's accord; afore the gods, I maun lilt till thee.

2 I maun lout me laigh i' yer halie howff; I maun lilt till yer name, for yer rewth an' yer trewth; for heigh abune a' that name o' yer ain, that word o' yer ain ye hecht.

3 I' the day whan I skreigh'd an' ye hearken'd me, ye doubled the might o' my saul.

4 A' kings o' the lan' sal gie laud till ye, LORD; an they heard but the words o' yer mouthe:

5 An' fu' loud they sal lilt i' the gates o' the LORD; for the skance o' the LORD, it 's fu' grit.

6 Tho' the LORD be fu' heigh, the laigh he can sight; an' the mighty, he kens far eneugh.

7 Tho' I gang pingled roun', ye can haud my life soun'; on the wuth o' my faes, yer han' ye can heize; an' yer right-han', sal haud me fu' lown.

8 The LORD sal do a' for mysel; yer gudeness, O LORD, tholes for evir: the warks o' yer han', ye win-na fling by, a'-thegither.


How the LORD made a', an' kens a', that belangs or befa's us.

Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

LORD, ye rypit me, thrugh an' thro', till ye kent me:

2 Yerlane, ye ken weel o' my down-sittin baith, and my risin; fu' brawly ye ken the thought that's far ben, 'ithin me.

3 Gangin or lyin, ye trew me a'; no a gate o' my ain, but ye tent it:

4 For a word o' my tongue thar canna be; bot al-utterlie, LORD, ye hae kent it.

5 Ahint an' afore, ye hae sweel'd me roun'; an' atowre me, yer loof ye straughtit:

6 Sic'na ken o' yer ain, 's owre heigh for me; it's abune might o' mine, till win at it.

7 O whar sal I win, frae that spreit o' yer ain; an' whar sal I flee frae yer sight?

8 An I spiel till the lift, ye 're thar by yerlane; an I streek i' the sheugh, ye're aneth.

9 The wings o' the light, I may dight them on, an' bide on the lave o' the watirs:

10 Bot thar yer ain han', it suld weise me on; an' yer right han' itsel suld upha' me.

11 An I say syne, The mirk it sal hap me owre; than the night, like light, it sal schaw me:

12 For the mirk at-weel, frae yersel's nae bield; bot the night, it gies light like the day: the mirkest mirk's like the lightest light, perfay!

13 For yerlane, ye had a' my lisk; in my mither's bouk, ye biel'd me.

14 I suld lilt till ye syne, 'am sae wonner fine, wrought a' sae gran', as my thought can forestan', sae weel to'.

15 My banes war-na happit frae thee, tho' I was wrought i' the mirk; wi' sae mony a fauld, i' the laighest halds o' the yirth.

16 My bouk, yer een they took tent o'; an' intil yer buik they war scriven, a' pairts o' me syne that war schuppen, or ere thar was ane o' them worth.

17 An' yer friendly thoughts to mysel; O GOD, how they're by my ken! What-'na wheen o' them a' to tell!

18 An I suld ettle till count them, mair nor san', ayont tellin they be! Gin I wauken, 'am ay wi' thee.

19 LORD GOD, an ye fell the ill-doer! Awa frae me, bluidy loons:

20 Wha cry till yersel like an eidol; an' turn till the mischieff yer towns.

21 LORD, jimply I thole wha ill-will ye; an' flyte wi' yer gain-stan'ers a':

22 I like them, as ill 's I can like them; for ill-willers o' mine, they sal sta'.

23 Ye maun rype me, O God, an' heart-ken me; ye maun try me, an' trew my thoughts:

24 An' see gin thar's ought o' a lie in mysel; an' airt me the endless gate.

Psalm CXL.

Wae fa' the ill-deedie man, tho' a crown an' a' be abune him.

Till the sang-maister: ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

REDD me, LORD, frae the ill-deedie man; frae the man o' mischieff, waird me:

2 Wha ettle a' that's ill, i' their heart; ilka day they forgather till waur me.

3 Their tongue they hae whatt, like an ethir's; the feim o' the ask 's i' their lips: Selah.

4 Redd me, LORD, frae the ill-doer's han'; frae the man o' mischieff, waird me: wha ettle till fank my gates.

5 The haughty, they happit a girn for me; an' links forby: a net they rax't by the side o' the road; girns they set down, till tak me: Selah.

6 Quo' I till the LORD, My ain God are ye: Hearken, O LORD, to the sugh o' my bidden.

7 O LORD, my LORD, my heal-ha'din might; ye hae happit my head in the day o' redden.

8 LORD, gie the ill-doer nane his will; his weary thought, ye maunna fu'fil; they're heigh eneugh, LORD, already: Selah!

9 Wha fank me roun'-atowre their crown, may the ill o' their lips be theekit!

10 Bleezan blauds come abune them; ben i' the lowe gar fling them; laigh i' the sheugh gar ding them, that they ne'er sal stan' again.

11 The ill-tongued man, on the yirth sanna stan'; the ill-deedie carl mischieff sal harl, till he fa'.

12 For I ken that the LORD sal do right till the puir; an' right-recht till the feckless an' a'.

13 An' syne sal the rightous gie laud till yer name; an' afore ye, the aefauld hae a ha'.

Psalm CXLI.

David's bidden sal be fain, an' David's tholin sal be kind: wha wytes him weel, sal ne'er do him ill.

Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

LORD, I skreigh till yersel, fy haste ye till me; lout yer lug till my din, ay whan I skreigh till thee.

2 Lat my bidden win right till yer sight, ay like the haly reek; the heizin-up o' my looves, like the hansel at gloamin eke.

3 LORD, put the waird on my mouthe; ay haud the flake o' my lips:

4 Swee-na my heart till a word o' ill; till wark at mischieff, wi' folk that do ill; an' ne'er lat me pree o' their sweets.

5 Lat the gude man ding me, I'se tak it fu' kind; lat him wyte me, it's oyle on my head; siclike sal ne'er crack my crown: for or lang, in their ain day o' need, an' my bidden for them sal come roun.

6 Whan their righters gang down till the sheugh, syne sal they hear what I say; for my words sal be canny eneugh.

7 For like tearin an' rivan the yirth, our banes are dang here awa there awa, clean at the mouthe o' the heugh.

8 Bot ay till yersel, O JEHOVAH; my een, Lord o' mine, are till thee: I lippen me a' till yerlane; an' ye maun-na mislippen me.

9 Kep me frae the grip o' the girns, they stentit sae straught for mysel; an' eke frae the loopy-links, o' them wha wark at ill.

10 Lat ill-doers coup in their ain fankin-gear, ay whan I can loup owre, mysel!

Psalm CXLII.

Wha kens sae weel whar we bide, or wha can redd us like God.

Maschil o' David's; a heart's-bode o' his ain, whan he bade i' the cove, out o' sight.

I SIGH'D till the LORD wi' my breath; wi' my breath, till the LORD I cou'd sigh:

2 I toom'd out afore him my thought, my strett I made plain in his sight.

3 Whan my spreit was dang gyte in mysel, yerlane it was, kent my gate; on the road that I slippet alang, they happit a girn for my fit.

4 Leuk weel on the right, an' see, bot nane till ken me thar: a' shaltir frae me was gane; for my life, no a livin took care.

5 I sigh'd till yersel, O LORD; quo' I, Yerlane be my houp: ye're a' that's left till me, in the land o' livin folk.

6 Tak tent till my chirm, for 'am worn awa, redd me frae wha wad win at me, for they're sterker nor me an' a'.

7 But wi' my life frae this weary hald, laud till yer name to gie; the rightous sal crown me or lang, for yersel sal gie double till me.


David skreighs, ay sairer an' sairer: God maun hearken, or he'll die wi' sic unco dule.

Ane heigh-lilt o' David's.

HEARKEN, LORD, till my bidden; lout yer lug till my weary schraigh: in yer truth, speak hame till me syne; in yer rightousness:

2 An' come-na till stricks wi' yer thirlman; for nane lives, can be right afore thee.

3 For the Ill-ane, he's eftir my saul; my life he wad thring till the yird: he wad steek me in mirkest boles; as wha, lang sen-syne, hae been dead.

4 Sae my gheist, it's forfoughten within me; my heart, it's clean daze'd i' my midds.

5 I mindet the days o' lang-syne; I bethought me on a' ye hae dune; I dree't on the wark o' yer han's:

6 I braidet my looves afore ye; and, e'en as a drowthy lan', my life it could lang for thee: Selah.

7 Fy haste ye, till answer me, LORD; my gheist, it's a' but gane: hide-na yer face frae me, in case-be I gang like the lave; wi' them wha are pang'd i' the sheugh.

8 Lat me hear o' yer gudeness at mornin ere, for I lippen me a' till yersel: airt me the gate I suld gang; for, till yerlane I lift up my saul.

9 Redd me but frae my ill-willers, LORD; till yersel, I maun gang till hide me.

10 Learn me the gate o yer ain gude-will, for yerlane are JEHOVAH, God o' my ain: that spreit o' yer ain 's fu' nieborlie ay; airt me a lan', whar the gate's fu' plain.

11 For yer name's sake, LORD, haud me livin ay: in your rightousness, redd but my life, frae a strett like this:

12 And, o' yer gudeness, ding my ill-willers by; an' ding ilk ane that wad ding my saul: for wha but mylane is yer thirlman!

Psalm CXLIV.

David's ain thought o' Kingly gree, and o' a' that suld be, intil a weel-guided, weel-thriven state.

Ane o' David's.

BLYTHE be the LORD, my heigh-ha'din; wha hansels my han's for the stour; wha ettles my fingers for facht:

2 My gree, an' my hainin-towir; my uphauder, an' my redder-but; my schild, ontil whilk I may lippen; wha thrings my folk laigh till my fit.

3 LORD, what 's the yird-born, ye suld heed him? or son o' the carl, ye tak tent till him?

4 The yird-born, he 's waur nor naething; his days, they wear by like a gloam.

5 LORD, lout yer lift, an' win on them; tang but the heights, an' they 'll reek!

6 Light a lowe, an' daze them; out wi' yer flanes, an' fley them!

7 Rax yont yer han's frae abune them: redd me an' rowe me frae unco spates; frae the han' o' the bairns o' the frem:

8 Whase mouthe cracks fusionless claivers; an' their right-han', 's a right-han' o' scham!

9 A new sang, O God, I maun sing till yersel; on a harp wi' tensome thairms, I maun lilt till thee:

10 Wha yerlane, can gie scowth till kings; wha can redd but David his thirlman, frae the grip o' the gruesome swurd.

11 Lowse me, an' redd me hame, frae the han' o' the bairns o' the frem; whase mouthe cracks fusionless claivers, an' their right-han', 's a right-han' o' scham!

12 That our sons be like growthy sprouts, weel-grown i' their bairn-time a'; our dochtirs like shapely stanes, weel-set in a pailis-wa':

13 That our barns be bursen wi' victual, frae ae hairst till anither come roun'; our sheep, by thousans on thousans, may thrang athort a' our towns:

14 That our knowte may be brawly thriven; neither outshot nor in-win amang them; nor nae eerie sugh in our yairds.

15 Blythe may the folk be, whase fa' is siclike; blythe at-weel may the folk be, whase God is the LORD.

Psalm CXLV.

Folk lang-syne hae laudit the Lord; bot nane o' them kens like David.

A laud-lilt o' David's.

LORD GOD o' my ain, that's King, I maun heize ye heigh; an' laud yer name, for evir an' ay:

2 Ilka day, I maun roose yersel; an' laud yer name for evir an' ay.

3 Fu' gran' 's the LORD, an' weel to be laudit; end o' his greatness nane can be:

4 Outcome till outcome, sal laud yer warks; an' weel schaw furth yer mighty gree.

5 The weight o' yer gloirious lofflihead, an' the sugh o' yer wonner-warks, I maun ken:

6 The might o' yer wonner-warks folk hae tell'd; bot yer mightiness a', mylane sal pen:

7 Word they hae croon'd o' yer gudeness, lang; bot yer rightousness syne they sal lilt on hie!

8 Kind an' pitifu' ay is the LORD; lang or he lowes; and rews right fain:

9 Gude's the LORD till a' forby; an' his pitie, atowre his warks ilk ane.

10 LORD, yer doens, they praise ye a'; an' sants o' yer ain, they suld speak ye fair:

11 The weight o' yer kingryks, folk maun tell; an' ay on yer rightousness words maun ware:

12 Till lat yird-born folk his might weel wot; an' a' the weight of his kingryks rare.

13 Thae realms o' thine, hae been realms out o' mind; an' yer rewl, it s' ayont a' livin kind.

14 The LORD, he stoops a' wha stacher down; an' straughts a' wha gang twa-fauld:

15 The een o' the lave leuk a' till thee; an' ye gie them bread belyve:

16 Braidin yer loof, an' toomin aneugh, o' yer gudeness, till a' on live.

17 Right is the LORD in ilk gate o' his ain, an' kindly in a' that his han' does:

18 Nieborlie ay is the LORD, till a' wha cry on himsel; till a' wha cry on himsel, right heartilie.

19 The gudewill he warks o' wha fear himsel; an' he hearkens their skreigh, an' he saifs them:

20 The LORD fen's for a', wha loe himsel; but a' warkers o' wrang he dings by:

21 The laud o' the LORD, my mouthe sal tell; an' that name o' his ain sae halie, a' flesh sal blythe-bid for evir an' ay.

Psalm CXLVI.

Nae lippenin to ony but God, wha made baith the lift an' the lan'.

[By wha's no said.]

HALLELUJAH! Gie laud till the LORD, O my saul!

2 I maun lilt till the LORD, whan 'am livin; I maun lilt till my God, whiles I last ava'.

3 Lippen ye nane till princes, nor yet till son o' the yird; nae gift o' heal-ha'din has he.

4 His breath wins awa; he wins hame till his stoure; in that sel-sam day, his thoughts die.

5 Blythe be the wight, whase help 's in the God o' Jakob; whase tryst 's in the LORD, his God:

6 Wha made baith the lift an' the lan'; the sea, an' ilk haet intil them; wha bides by the trewth evir mair:

7 Wha rights amang sair-tholin folk; wha ay ettles bread for the hungry; the LORD lats the thirlbun' gang.

8 The LORD, he can lighten the blin'; the LORD, he can straught the twa-fauld; the LORD loes the rightous weel:

9 The LORD keeps haud o' the frem; the orph'lin an' widow, he stoops; bot the gate o' ill-doers, he dings.

10 The LORD sal be King for ay! That God o' yer ain, O Zioun, is frae ae folk's time till anither: Laud till the LORD gie ye!


Anither lilt o' laud till Jehovah, makar o' a', an' friend till a', in Jakob.

[By wha's no said.]

HALLELUJAH! For gude it's, to lilt till our God; sic liltin's baith blythe an' braw.

2 It's the LORD sal big up Jerusalem; the sperfle'd o' Israel, sal gather them a':

3 Healin the heart-broken kindly; an' mendin their unco stoun's.

4 He tells the tale o' the starnies; he cries till them a' by their names:

5 Gran 's our LORD, an' fu' mighty; o' his thoughts, thar's nae tellin ava'.

6 The LORD lifts the laighest fu' canny; the ill, he dings till they fa.'

7 Time wi' a sang till JEHOVAH; sing ye till our God wi' the harp:

8 Wha theeks owre the lift wi' the carrie; wha syne ettles rain for the yirth: wha gars gerss on the heights tak the road:

9 Wha gies victual till beiss o' the field; till the schraighin brood o' the craw.

10 He cares nane for the strenth o' the aiver; likes as little the shanks o' the carl:

11 The gudewill o' the LORD 's on wha fear him; on wha lippen a' till his rewth.

12 Gie laud till the LORD, O Jerus'lem; Zioun, lilt heigh till yer God:

13 For the bars o' yer yetts, he made sikker, an' yer weans, intil ye, blythe-bade:

14 Wha settled yer march wi' lown niebors; an' stegh'd ye wi' best o' the wheat.

15 Wha sends but his bidden on yirth; unco speedy, his word it wins on:

16 Snaw, like 'oo, he can ettle; an' strinkles the cranreuch, like ase.

17 Wha deals out his ice like moolins; wha can thole, in the face o' his cauld?

18 Syne out wi' his word, an' it thowes them; his breath wins about, an' watirs they wimple enew.

19 His words, he taught them till Jakob; his trysts, an' his rights, till Isra'l:

20 Siclike he wrought-na wi' ither folk; an' his rightins they ne'er kent amang them: Laud ye the LORD.


Ane heigh-lilt o' laud till the Lord, frae a' that bides in the warld.

[By wha's no said.]

HALLELUJAH! Laud the LORD himsel frae the lift; laud him frae the heighest heights:

2 Laud him, a' errand-rinners o' his ain; laud him, a' hosts o' his.

3 Laud him, baith sun an' mune; laud him, a' starns o' light:

4 Laud him, ye lift o' lifts; an' ye fludes owre the hevins' height:

5 Lat them a' laud the name o' the LORD; for himlane gied the word, an' they schupen war:

6 An' he ettled them ay till stan'; he made-guid a decreet, that suld ne'er be schuten-owre.

7 Laud ye the LORD, frae yirth, gryfes an' ilk awesome howe:

8 Lowe an' hail; snaw an' mist; whirlin blast, that warks his bidden:

9 Heigh heights, an' a' ye knowes, frutefu' stoks, an' ilka cedar:

10 Brute o' the field, an' beiss o' the fauld; wurblin worm, an' fliean feddyr:

11 Kings o' the yirth, an' a' peopil; provosts, an' a' right-rechters o' the lan':

12 Baith lads an' lasses; auld folk an' bairns:

13 Lat them a' laud the name o' the LORD; for his name is heighest: his loffliheid alane, 's abune yirth an' hevins.

14 An' he straughtit has the horn o' his ain folk on hie; the praise o' a' his sanctit anes; the bairns-folk o' Israel; a folk ay nar till himsel: Laud till the LORD gie ye!

Psalm CXLIX.

A lilt o' laud for the Sancts in Jakob.

[By wha's no said.]

HALLELUJAH! Sing ye till the LORD a new sang; his praise in the thrang o' the Sancts.

2 Lat Israel be blythe in his makar; Zioun's bairns be fu' fain in their king:

3 Lat them laud till his name wi' a dinnle; wi' the drum an' the harp, lilt loud till him:

4 For the LORD's weel content wi' his peopil; the down-cuisten, wi' health he 'll mak trim.

5 Lat the Sancts be fu' blythe in gloiry; lat them lilt fu' loud on their beds:

6 The heigh-lilts o' God, in their mouthes ay; and, i' their han', a double-faced swurd that sneds.

7 Till wrack God's-right on the hethen; an' wyte amang niebors a:

8 Till yoke their kings intil thirlbans; an' their foremaist in airn branks:

9 Till wark on them, right that's written; sic gloiry belangs a' his Sancts. Hallelujah!

Psalm CL.

The hinmaist Hallelujah, fu' heigh an' grand, wi' a' that can dirl an' blaw.

[By wha's no said.]

HALLELUJAH! Gie laud till God in his haly-rood; gie him laud in the lift o' his strenth!

2 Gie him laud intil a' his wonners, gie him laud in the feck o' his might!

3 Gie him laud wi' the tout o' the horn; gie him laud wi' the brod an' the harp!

4 Gie him laud wi' the drum an' the dinnle; gie him laud wi' the thairms o' delight!

5 Gie him laud wi' the dirl o' the cymbals; gie him laud, wi' the cymbals dirlin hie!

6 Lat a' ye can blaw thro', laud the LORD; Laud till the LORD gie ye!