Gàidhlig
Salm 88
Iehòbhah Dhia, mo Shlànaighear, ort ghair mi dh'oidhch' 's a là. Ad fhianais thigeadh m'ùrnaigh fòs; is èisd mo ghlaodh a-ghnàth. Oir m'anam làn de thrioblaid tha, 's don uaigh mo bheatha dlùth. Seadh, mheasadh mi mar neach thèid sìos don t-sloc, is mi gun lùth. Saor tha mi measg nam marbh, is fòs mar mharbh san uaigh gun deò, A sgathadh sìos led làimh gu beachd, 's nach cuimhnichear nas mò. Chuir thu mi 'n àite domhain, dorch, san t-sloc as ìsle th'ann. Is chlaoidh thu mi led thonnan àrd', laigh ormsa d'fhearg gu teann. Chuir thu luchd m'eòlais fada uam; 's ro-sgreataidh mise leò; Mar neach am prìosan druidt' a tàim, nach faigh a-mach nas mò. Do bhrìgh mo thrioblaid tha mo shùil ri caoidh is bròn a-ghnàth; Mo làmhan shìn mi riuit, a Dhè, is ghairm mi ort gach là. Do mhìorbhailean don dream tha marbh, a Dhè, an taisbein thu? An èirich iad a-nìos a-rìs, a thabhairt dhutsa cliù? Do thròcair is do choibhneas caomh, am foillsichear san uaigh? Air d'fhìrinn ann an sgrios a' bhàis, le neach an toirear luaidh? Am bi maoin eòlais anns an dorch' air d'fheartan mìorbhaileach? No 'm bi an tìr na dìochuimhn' fios, no beachd air d'fhìreantachd? Ach riutsa ghlaodh mi, O mo Dhia; gu moch thèid m'ùrnaigh suas. Dhia, cuim an tilg thu m'anam uat? 's an cùm thu uam do ghnùis? Om òige tha mi air mo chràdh, ro-dhlùth do bhàs is uaigh; Air dhomh bhith fulang d'uamhasan, tha mi an imcheist chruaidh; Oir dh'imich tharam d'fhearg gu trom; chlaoidh d'uamhais mi a-ghnàth; Mar uisge chaidh iad timcheall orm, gam chuartachadh gach là. Mo charaid chuir thu uam am fad, 's am fear thug dhòmhsa gràdh; Luchd m'eòlais mar an ceudna tha an dorchadas nan tàmh.
(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))
English
Psalm 88
Song. Psalm. Of the sons of Korah. In sickness. In suffering. Poem. Of Heman the Ezrahite.
O Yahweh, God of my salvation,
day and night I cry before you;
May my prayer reach your presence,
turn your ear to my cry.
For my soul is full of trouble,
my life is on the edge of the grave;
I am counted with those who go down to the pit.
I am like a man who has lost his strength,
left alone with the dead,
like the slaughtered in the grave,
the ones you no longer hold in mind,
cut off from your protection.
You have placed me in the lowest pit,
in the darkest parts of the depths.
I am weighed down by your heavy wrath;
you have overwhelmed me with all your
waves.
You have taken me from my closest friends
and made me utterly loathsome to them.
I am trapped and cannot escape;
my eyes are dim with grief.
O Yahweh, I call to you every day,
and stretch out my hands to you.
Do you work wonders for the dead?
Do the dead rise up in your praise?
Is your love proclaimed in the grave,
your faithful love in destruction?
Are your wonders known in the realms of
darkness,
or your righteous acts in the land of oblivion?
But I cry to you for help, O Yahweh;
my prayer comes before you every dawn.
Why, O Yahweh, do you rebuff me,
why do you hide your face from me?
Afflicted and close to death since childhood,
I have borne your terrors but now I despair.
Your wrath has swept over me,
your terrors destroyed me;
all day long they surge around me,
from every side they have flooded over me.
You have taken from me my friends and
companions;
now darkness is my closest friend.
(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))