Gàidhlig
Salm 69
O teasairg mise, Dhè mo neirt, oir dhòirt na tuiltean orm Is thàinig fòs air m'anam bochd na h-uisgeachan le toirm. An làthaich dhomhain tha mi 'n sàs, gun àit an seasainn ann; Le uisgean domhain ghlacadh mi, is sruth dol thar mo cheann. Tàim sgìth lem ghlaodhaich; agus tha mo sgòrnan loisgt' le tart; Mo shùilean tha air fàilneachadh, feitheamh air Dia nam feart. Is lìonmhoire na falt mo chinn mo naimhdean gun chion-fàth, 'S an dream ud fòs lem b'àill mo chlaoidh ro-ghuineach làidir tha. An sin an nì nach tug mi leam, dh'aisig mi uam gu beachd. Dhia, 's fiosrach thu air m'amaideachd, chan fhalaicht' ort mo lochd. Nàir air mo sgàth-sa, Dhè, na leig, O Thighearna nan sluagh, Air neach air bith den aitim ud tha feitheamh ort gach uair; An dream sin, O Dhia Israeil, gad iarraidh fhèin a tha, Na leig gu bràth fo nàire iad, no masladh air mo sgàth. Oir masladh dh'fhuiling air do sgàth; lìonadh mo ghnùis le nàir'. Dom bhràithrean is fear coigreach mi, coimheach aig cloinn mo mhàth'r. Le eud do theach-sa shluigeadh mi; meud 's a bheir masladh dhut, 'S ann orms' an toibheum siud gu lèir gu leth-tromach a thuit. M'anam tràth thraisg, 's a rinn mi gul, 'n sin mhaslaich iad mo ghnìomh. 'S nuair chuir mi umam aodach saic, ball-magaidh rinn iad dhìom. Dhaibhsan a shuidheas anns a' gheat', 's cùis chòmhraidh mi gach là; 'S do luchd na misg' ri àm am pòit', am òran tha mi ghnàth. Ach mise, Dhè, nì ùrnaigh riut, san uair as taitneach leat; Eisd rium, a Dhè, rèir meud do ghràis, led chobhair fhìor thoir neart. On làthaich saor mi, O mo Dhia! chum foidh' nach rachainn sìos; O luchd mo mhìoruin teasairg mi, 's o dhoimhneachd uisge nìos. Na rachadh tharam tuilteach uisg', na sluigeadh doimhneachd mi, An sloc na druideadh orm a bheul gu h-iomlan chum mo chlaoidh. Eisd rium, O Dhia, oir 's math do ghràs; till rium ad thròcair phailt. Do ghnùis na ceil air d'òglach fhèin, èisd rium gu luath, 's mi 'n airc. Rim anam druid, is fuasgail e; om nàmhaid dèan mo dhìon. Mo mhasladh, m'eas-urram, 's mo nàir', 's mo naimhdean, 's lèir dhut fhèin. Le toibheum tha mo chridhe brist', is mi gu h-iarganach; Dh'iarr mi luchd truais is comhfhurtachd, is dhiubh cha d'fhuaireas neach. Seadh, thug iad domblas dhomh mar bhiadh, 's am ìotadh thug fìon geur. Mar eangach dhaibh gu robh am bòrd; 's mar rib an àgh gu lèir. Gun lèirsinn biodh an sùilean dall, 's an leasraidh ghnàth air chrith. Dòirt orra d'fhearg, 's led chorraich ghèir glac iad gach uair sam bith. Mar fhàsach lom gun àiteachadh gu robh an tàmh 's an teach, Is anns na pàilleanan bu leo còmhnaidh na gabhadh neach. Oir lean iad le dian-fhoireigneadh an tì a bhuaileadh leat; Is labhair iad chum doilgheis mhòir, don dream a rinn thu lot. Cuir ciont' rin aingidheachd, 's na leig ad cheartas iad a-steach; A leabhar fòs nam beò gu tur dubhar iad siud a-mach; Is maille ris na fìreanan a bhuineas dhut gun cheist, Is ann an àireamh dhaoine còir na sgrìobhar iad am feasd. Ach mise tha gu h-ainnis bochd, is làn de bhròn faraon; Togadh do shlàinte mi an àird, a Dhè, gu gràsmhor caoin. Le òran binn sìor mholaidh mi deagh ainm mo Dhè gach là, 'S a chliù-san fòs sìor thogar leam le buidheachas gu h-àrd. 'S fheàrr leis an Tighearn siud gu mòr na damh tha adhairceach, No ìobairt fòs a bheireadh neach de bhiorach chrobhanaich. Na daoine sèimh tràth chì iad seo, bidh aoibhneach ait gu leòr; Is bidh ur crìdh'-sa beò gu bràth tha 'g iarraidh Dhè na glòir'. Ri bochdan èisdidh Dia, 's cha dèan tàir air a phrìosanaich. Nèamh, muir, is tìr, gum moladh e, 's gach nì tha gluasadach. Oir bailtean Iùdah togaidh Dia, is saorar Sion leis, A-chum gum meal iad i gu buan, ga h-àiteachadh am feasd. Do shliochd a sheirbhiseach gu fìor, is seilbh ro-dhìleas i; 'S an dream a bheir da ainm-san gràdh, sìor-chòmhnaidh innte nì.
(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))
English
Psalm 69
For the choirmaster. Tune: ‘Lilies…’. Of David.
Save me, O God,
for the waters are closing over me,
I sink in the deepest swamp
where there is no firm ground;
I have come into deep waters,
and the flood overwhelms me.
Exhausted with crying for help,
my throat is parched and my eyes fail,
searching for my God.
Those who hate me for no reason
are more than the hairs of my head;
I have foes strong and treacherous,
who wish to destroy me.
Must I return what I did not steal?
O God, you know how foolish I am,
for my guilt is not hidden from you.
May none of those who hope in you
be shamed through me, O Lord Yahweh of
Hosts;
those who seek you must not be disgraced,
because of me, O God of Israel.
I bear reproach for your sake,
and shame has covered my face;
I am cut off from my brothers,
a stranger to my mother's sons,
for zeal of your house consumes me,
and insults to you fall on me.
When I fast with bitter weeping,
it only leads to insults;
when I go about in sackcloth,
people only laugh at me;
I am mocked by idlers at the gate,
and I am the theme of drunken songs.
But I pray to you, O Yahweh,
at an acceptable time;
in your great and faithful love,
O God, answer with sure deliverance.
Rescue me from the swamp
and do not let me sink;
save me from those who hate me,
and from the deep waters.
Do not let the floods engulf me
and the depths drown me,
and the pit close its mouth on me.
Answer me, O Yahweh,
for your faithful love is good;
turn towards me in tenderness.
Do not turn your face from your servant,
answer me quickly, for I am in trouble;
come near and save me,
set me free because of my foes.
You know the insults, my shame and disgrace;
all who trouble me are well known to you.
Scorn has broken my heart and left me despairing;
I vainly sought pity
and could not find comfort.
They gave me poison to eat
and vinegar for my thirst.
May their own table become a trap,
and their security a snare;
May their eyes be darkened until they are blind
and their bodies be struck with trembling.
Pour out your fury on them;
overtake them with burning anger.
Turn their camp into ruins;
make their tents uninhabited;
for they hound those you struck,
and hurt those you wounded.
Charge them with crime upon crime,
and deny them a share of salvation.
May they be scratched from the book of life,
and never be listed with the righteous.
O God, I am wounded and in distress;
may your saving power protect me.
I will praise God's name in song;
and glorify him with thanksgiving.
This will please Yahweh more than a bull,
a young ox with horns and hooves.
The humble will see and be glad;
take heart, all you who search for God;
for Yahweh hears the poor,
and does not despise his exiled people.
Let the heaven and earth give him praise,
the seas and everything in them,
for God will rescue Zion,
and rebuild the cities of Judah.
People will settle and own their own land.
His servants' descendants will inherit it,
and those who love his name
will live there.
(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))