Psalm 11
11
XI Psalm.
1Mo ḋóċus cuirimse a nDia:
Cread faṫ a nabruiḋ siḃ,
Re m’anam, teiṫ go sganraċ luaṫ,
’S eitill mur ean dod’ ṡliaḃ.
2Feuċ, ċuir na haingiḋe boġa air luaḋ,
A sai’d air ṡraing do ġléus,
Ṫeilg san dorċ’ air an te ta ceart,
A ccroiḋe a’s ann a mbéus.
3Ma ṫéid na bunáite air lár,
Cread ġniḋ an duine cóir?
4Ta Dia ’na ṫeampoll duinn air neaṁ,
’Sta ’ċaṫáoir lán do ġlóir:
A’s léir da ruisg gaċ uile ḋuil,
San doṁan ṁón ata;
Re n’ ḟorḋuḃaiḃ, aoiḃ an tsáoġáil,
Ransuiġion se do ġnaṫ.
5Dearḃuiġion Dia na firéunuiḋe,
Aċt fuaṫuiġion se go léir
An daói meaḃlaċ ġraḋuiġios olc,
’Sna foiréigniḋe le ċéil’.
6Air ḋáoiniḃ ciontaċ fearfuiġ Dia
Paintéir anuas gan sgíṫ:
Teine, a’s ruiḃ, a’s doinion ṁór,
Cóṁroinn na sgál a ġníḋ.
7An Tiġearna ta fior a’s ceart,
Is ionṁuin leis an ċóir:
Ag feuċaint air na firéunuiḃ,
Le deaġ‐ġnúis a’s le glóir.
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Psalm 11: PSA1836G
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A Londain: ar na chur na gclo re Richard Watts, 1836.
