Gàidhlig
Salm 147
Molaibh-se Dia; oir 's math bhith seinn
àrd-mholadh binn dar Dia.
Oir 's tlachdmhor e 's is maiseil siud,
bhith tabhairt cliù don Triath.
Suas togaidh Dia Ierusalem;
cruinnichidh e ri chèil'
An dream den d'rinneadh dìobaraich,
de ghineal Israèil.
Don aitim ga bheil cridhe brùit'
bheir esan slàinte mhòr;
Is ceanglaidh suas gu faiceallach
gach cneadh tha orra 's leòn.
Na reultan lìonmhor àirmhear leis;
gan ainmeachadh gu lèir.
Is mòr ar Dia, 's is mòr a neart;
gun tomhas air a chèill.
Togaidh Iehòbhah suas gu dearbh
na daoine ciùin a-rìs,
Is leagar leis na daoi le tàir,
gu làr, gan tilgeadh sìos.
Seinnibh do Dhia Iehòbhah mòr,
le buidheachas gu binn;
Seinnibh dar Dia-ne moladh àrd
air teud na clàrsaich grinn.
'S e dh'fhal'cheas nèamh le neulan tiugh',
dh'ullaicheas uisge fòs
Don talamh; 's e bheir air an fheur
bhith fàs air slèibhtean mòr'.
Don ainmhidh 's do gach beathach beò
bheir esan lòn gun dìth;
Is do na fithich òg' faraon
a ghlaodhas 'g iarraidh bìdh.
An neart an eich cha bhi a dhùil,
ge mòr a lùth 's a threis;
Cha ghabh e tlachd an casan fir
sheasas gu dìreach deas.
Tha Dia a' gabhail tlachd gu mòr
don dream don eagal e,
Chuireas an dòchas is an dòigh
na thròcair-san gach rè.
Thoir moladh, O Ierusaleim,
do Dhia Iehòbhah mòr,
Dod Dhia-sa tabhair moladh fìor,
O Shion, mar as còir.
Croinn-dhruididh fòs do dhorsan mòr'
do neartaich e gu math;
Is bheannaich e do shlìochd gu lèir
ad mheadhon fhèin a-staigh.
'S e chuireas ann ad chrìochan fòs
sìth agus sonas mòr;
'S e nì le smior a' chruithneachd ghlain
do shàsachadh gu leòr.
'S e chuireas 'àithne mach air tìr,
nì fhacal ruith gu luath.
Bheir sneachd mar olainn; sgaoilidh e
an liath-reodh mar an luath.
Leac-eighe tilgidh e a-mach,
mar ghreamannan nach gann;
Is anns an fhuachd a rinneadh leis,
cò dh'fhaodas seasamh ann?
Cuiridh e fhacal mòr a-mach,
is leaghar iad a-rìs;
Air sèideadh dha le gaoith an sin,
sruthaidh na tuiltean sìos.
Do Iàcob tha e foillseachadh
a bhriathar fìorghlan naomh,
A statuin is a bhreitheanais
do Israel gu caomh.
Seo maitheas nach do dheònaich e
dh'aon chinneach tha fon ghrèin;
A bhreitheanais cha b'aithne dhaibh.
Molaibh Iehòbhah treun.
(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))
English
Psalm 147
Praise Yahweh!
How good it is
to sing psalms to our God,
how pleasant and fitting to praise him!
Yahweh rebuilds Jerusalem
and gathers the exiles of Israel.
He heals the broken-hearted
and binds up their wounds.
He fixes the number of stars
and gives each one a name.
Yahweh is great and mighty in power,
and wise beyond any limits.
Yahweh supports the poor
but brings the wicked to the ground.
Sing to Yahweh a song of thanksgiving;
play to our God on the harp.
He covers the sky with clouds,
provides the earth with rain
and makes grass grow on the hills.
He gives the food to the cattle
and the ravens' chicks when they caw.
He takes no pride in the power of the horse,
nor pleasure in human strength;
Yahweh delights in those who fear him,
who put their hope in his faithful love.
Extol Yahweh, Jerusalem;
praise your God, O Zion.
He gives strength to the bars of your gates,
he blesses your children within you.
He keeps the peace of your borders
and gives you your fill
of finest wheat.
He sends his word to the earth;
his command runs very swiftly;
he spreads the snow like wool
and scatters frost like ashes;
he hurls down hail like pebbles;
he sends the cold and the waters freeze.
Then he sends his word and melts them;
he makes the wind blow and the waters flow.
He reveals his word to Jacob,
his laws and decrees to Israel.
He has done this for no other nation;
they do not know his decrees.
Praise Yahweh!
(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))