Gàidhlig
Salm 45
Deagh adhbhar òrain naoimh is ciùil a' deachdadh tha mo chrìdh'; Is labhram air na nithean sin a rinn mi fhèin don Rìgh; Mar pheann an làimh fir-sgrìobhaidh dheis a chuireas sìos gu luath, Is amhlaidh sin, mo theanga tha air d'urram àrd a' luaidh. Is maisich' thu na clann nan daoin'; gràs dhòrtadh ann ad bheul; Is air an adhbhar sin rinn Dia do bheannachadh gach ial. Deasaich do chlaidheamh air do leis, O thus', a ghaisgich mhòir; Led chumhachd is led mhòralachd, le greadhnachas is glòir. Bhrìgh fìrinn, suairceis, agus ceirt, marcaich gu buadhach àrd, Is nithean uamharr teagaisgidh do dheaslàmh dhut 's gach àit. Rachadh do shaighdean geur' gu crìdh' gach eascaraid an Rìgh; Tre sin am poball tuitidh fodh'd, is nìthear leat an claoidh. Gu suthainn is gu sìorraidh tha do chathair àrd, a Dhè; Slat-shuaicheantais do rìoghachd-sa is slat ro-chothrom i. O 's ionmhainn leatsa còir is ceart, is thug thu fuath don olc; Os cionn do chompanach chuir Dia, do Dhia-s', ol' aoibhneis ort. Den alos, mhirr, is chasia, od aodach fàile thèid; Leo siud do chuir iad aoibhneas ort, od lùchairt geal mar dheud. Am measg do mhnathan urramach tha nigheanan nan rìgh; 'S an òr na h-Ophir, air do dheis, do bhan-rìgh seasaidh i. A nighean, èisd is amhairc fòs, is crom-sa sìos do chluas; Taigh d'athar, is do mhuinntir fhèin na cuimhnich à seo suas. Gabhaidh mar sin an Rìgh làn-toil dod àille thlachdmhor fhèin; Oir 's e do Thighearn is do Thriath, thoir urram dha is gèill. Thig nighean Thìruis thugad fòs, le tìodhlacan gu tric; 'S na daoine saoibhir tha nam measg ag aslach gràis is iochd. Nighean an Rìgh gu dearbh a-staigh, tha uile làn de ghlòir; Tha 'culaidh aodaich uimpe fòs, air obrachadh le òr. Am brat de obair ghrèis le snàth'd, bheirear i gus an rìgh; Thig thugad luchd a coimheadachd, 's a maighdeannan na dèidh. Thèid iad gu cùirt an Rìgh a-steach, ait, aoibhneach bheirear iad. Airson do shinnsir bidh do chlann mar phrionnsan anns gach àit. D'ainm glòrmhor do gach linn a thig, air chuimhne cuiridh mi; Is bheir mar sin am poball dhut àrd-mholadh feadh gach rè.
(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))
English
Psalm 45
For the choirmaster. Tune: ‘Lilies…’. Of the sons of Korah. Poem. Love song.
My heart is moved by a noble theme:
as I sing my song to the king
my tongue is the pen of a skilful scribe.
You are the fairest of all men;
grace has been poured upon your lips,
for God has blessed you forever.
Fasten your sword upon your thigh,
O mighty one;
advance in pomp and majesty.
In majesty ride out as victor,
in the cause of truth,
humility and justice.
Do awesome deeds by your mighty power.
Your arrows are sharp
in the heart of royal foes;
nations fall beneath you.
God has enthroned you forever and ever,
your royal sceptre
is a sceptre of justice.
You love the just and hate the evil,
so God, your God, has anointed you
with oil of joy above your fellows.
Your robes are filled with fragrance:
myrrh, aloes and cassia.
Harps sound from ivory palaces
to make you glad.
King's daughters are your ladies of honour;
at your right hand the queen
wears gold of Ophir.
My daughter, listen to my words,
and think about them:
forget your people
and your father's house.
The king is enthralled by your beauty;
bow down to him,
for he is your lord.
The people of Tyre will court you with gifts;
the richest of people
will seek your favour.
The princess is glorious within her chamber;
gold is woven in her gown.
In splendid robes she is led to the king;
her companion virgins
will be brought to you.
With joy and gladness
they come in procession
to enter the palace of the king.
Instead of your fathers you shall have sons,
for you to make princes
in all the earth.
I will pass your memory to all generations,
so that nations will praise you
forever and ever.
(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))