Psalms 19
19
psalm XIX
Tuin: St Andrew
1God’s gudeliheid the hevins rede,
The lift His wark furthschaws;
2Day cries to day, and even sae
Nicht tells to nicht, His Laws.
3There’s ne’er a tongue nor tellin’ rung
But whaur their soughin’ soon’s;
4Their airt’s gane furth owre a’ the yirth,
Their word to warl’s boon’s.
He ettled lang e’en them amang
A shielin’ for the sun —
5Like bridegroom led frae’s chaumir, gled
A giant’s race to run.
6Frae ae lift’s end his gate dis wend,
Syne rinks to ither roon’;
There’s nocht that may be happit frae
His lowin’, lemin’ doon.
7God’s law’s thro’gaen, awaukenin’
The saul mislear’d wi’ vice;
His tryst o’ truth is aye richt sooth,
The bairnlike makkin’ wyss.
8His lear’s a licht, that airts us richt,
And mak’s the hert fu’ fain;
His biddin’s clean, and to the e’en
Gies gude enlichtenin’.
9His halesome dreid gars folk tak’ heed,
Abidin’ ever mair;
His jidgments e’en in truth are gi’en,
And a’thegither fair.
10Mair to be socht than a’ that’s bocht
Wi’ rowth o’ gowd sae fine;
The hinnie sweet can ne’er compete,
O Lord, wi’ words o’ Thine.
11They weel can wairn Thy ilka bairn
Hoo he may win gude lear;
Wha tents them weel sal never feel
The want o’ gudes or gear.
12Wha has the skill to ken the ill
His ain mislearin’ wins?
O, hain me frae the wyte, I pray,
O’ happit, hidden sins.
13Thy servant hide frae poo’er o’ pride,
That it rule‐na my will;
Syne sal I be aefauld, and free
O’ mickle scaith and ill.
14Words o’ my moo’, and hert‐thochts too,
Lat them aye pleeshure Thee,
O Lord, my strength, that at lang length
My bringer‐hame sal be.
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Metrical Psalms in Braid Scots, translated by Rev. T. T. Alexander published in 1928. This text is maintained by MissionAssist.