Psalms 8
8
¶ Til the chief musicien apon Gittith, Ane Psalm o’ David.
1O Lord our Lord, howe eksellent is thy næme in a’ the yirth! wha heth sete thy glorie aboone the heævens.
2Owt o’ the mooth o’ bairns an’ sookin’ weans hest thou ordeenet strencth, becaus o’ thine enimies, that thou michist quæit the enimie an’ the avangir.
3Whan I tak’ a thoucht o’ thy heævens, the wark o’ thy fingirs, the muun an’ the sterns, whilk thou hest ordeenet;
4What is man, that thou art min’fu’ o’ him? an’ the son o’ man, that thou shudist veesit him?
5For thou hest mæde him awee leauher nor the angils, an’ hest crownet him wi’ glorie an’ honor.
6Thou mædist him til hæ owerance ower the warks o’ thy han’s: thou hest putten a’ things aneæth his feet:
7A’ sheepe an’ owsen, ay, an’ the beæsts o’ the feeld;
8The fowle o’ the air, an’ the fisch o’ the se, an’ whatsæevir passes throwe the peths o’ the seis.
9O Lord our Lord, howe eksellent is thy næme in a’ the yirth!
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Psalms 8: SCOHSR
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Translated by Henry Scott Riddell. Published in London 1856-8.
