Psalms 3
3
¶ Ane Psalm o’ David, whan he flede frae Absalom.
1Lord, howe ar thaye inkresset that truble me? Monie ar thaye that ræise up agayne me.
2Monie ther be whilk say o’ my saul, Ther is nae helpe in God for him. Selah.
3But thou, O God, art my sheeld aroun me, my glorie, an’ the upliftir o’ mine heæd.
4I cryet untill the Lord wi’ my voyce, an’ he heærd me owt o’ his haly hill. Selah.
5I layde me doun an’ sleepet; I awaukenet; for the Lord susteenet me.
6I wullna be rade o’ ten thousans o’ peeple that hae sete thamesel’s agayne me roun aboot.
7Ræise up, O Lord; saufe me, O my God; for thou hest hutten a’ mine enimies apon the cheikbane: thou hest broken the teeth o’ the ungodlie.
8Salvatione belangs untill the Lord; thy blissin’ is apon thy peeple. Selah.
Valið núna:
Psalms 3: SCOHSR
Áherslumerki
Deildu
Afrita
Want to have your highlights saved across all your devices? Sign up or sign in
Translated by Henry Scott Riddell. Published in London 1856-8.