Psalm 9

Gàidhlig

Salm 9

Lem uile chridhe bheir mi dhut
  àrd-mholadh binn, a Dhè;
Is d'oibrean mìorbhaileach air fad
  sìor chuiridh mi an cèill.

Fòs nì mi annad aoibhneas ait,
  is gàirdeachas gu mòr:
Dod ainm-sa seinnidh mise cliù,
  O Thì as àirde glòir.

A-ris tràth thillear air an ais
  mo naimhdean, thèid gu làr;
Oir tuitidh iad is thèid dhaibh as,
  ad fhianais fhèin gun dàil.

Mo chòir rinn thusa sheasamh dhomh,
  gu daingeann is gu treun:
Ad chathair chothroim shuidh thu shuas,
  mar bhritheamh ceart am binn.

Is thug thu air na cinnich smachd,
  sgrios thu na daoine daoi:
An ainm do chuir thu as gu glan,
  o linn gu linn a-chaoidh.

(Air sgrios an nàmh chaidh crìoch am feasd:)
  leag thu am bailtean treun',
An iomradh-san 's an cuimhne fòs
  do theirig sin leo fhèin.

Ach mairidh Dia gu bunaiteach;
  chuir cathair suas chum breith.
Bheir air an domhan cothrom ceart,
  le còir don t-sluagh fa leth.

Mar dhaingneach bithidh Dia nam feart
  don tì a tha fo leòn;
An trioblaid, tèarmann dìleas e,
  ri faicinn neach fo bhròn.

Gach neach ga bheil air d'ainm-sa fios
  nì dòchas dhìot, is bun;
Oir mheud 's a tha gad iarraidh, Dhè,
  cha trèig thu iad gu tur.

Don Triath don còmhnaidh Sion naomh,
  seinnibh-sa cliù gu binn;
Aithrisibh fòs am measg an t-sluaigh
  na gnìomharan a rinn.

Tràth nì e rannsachadh air fuil,
  'n sin cuimhneach orra tha;
Cha leig air dearmad glaodh nam bochd,
  a ghairmeas air a-ghnàth.

Fòir orm, a Dhè, is amhairc air
  mo thrioblaid o luchd m'fhuath',
A Dhè, a tha gam thogail suas
  o dhorsan bàis gu luath.

An dorsan nighean Shioin chaoimh
  gun sgaoilinn d'uile chliù:
Is nì mi gàirdeachas air sgàth
  na slàinte dheònaich thu.

Thuit sìos na cinnich anns an t-sloc
  a chladhaich iad do chàch;
Is anns an lìon a dh'fhalaich iad,
  tha 'n casan fhèin an sàs.

Aithnichear Dia sa bhreith a nì,
  nuair thuiteas daoi san drip;
Is ann an gnìomh a làmhan fhèin
  teann-ghlacar e san rib.

Tillear luchd-uilc is aingidheachd
  gu ifrinn sìos gu lèir;
'S na fineachan nach cuimhnich Dia,
  tillear iad sìos le cèil'.

An t-ainnis truagh cha tèid am feasd,
  air dearmad no air dìth;
Air dòchas fòs an duine bhochd
  gu bràth chan fhaicear claoidh.

A Thighearn, èirich, 's na leig buaidh
  le neach don dual am bàs;
Breith thugar air na cinneachan
  ad fhianais anns gach càs.

Cuir eagal orrasan gu mòr,
  Iehòbhah Dhia nam feart;
Gun aithnicheadh na slòigh gu lèir
  iad fhèin nan daoine meat'.

(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))

English

Psalm 9

For the choirmaster. On oboe and harp. Psalm. Of David. Alphabetical. Muted music.

I praise you, O Yahweh, with all my heart,
       and tell of all your wonderful deeds;
O Most High, I rejoice and delight in you,
       and sing to your name.
My foes turn back;
       at your presence they stumble and die,
for you are enthroned as a righteous judge,
       and you have upheld my right and my cause.
You rebuked the nations and killed the wicked,
       and ruined them for evermore.
The enemy is utterly finished;
       you have levelled their cities
       and wiped out their memory for evermore.
Yahweh reigns forever,
       he has set up his throne for judgement.
He will judge the world in righteousness
       and govern the peoples with justice.
Yahweh is safety for the oppressed,
       a fortress in troubled times.
Those who know you by name will trust in you;
       O Yahweh, you never desert those who
              seek you.
Sing praise to Yahweh, enthroned in Zion;
       tell the nations what he has done;
the Avenger of Blood does not forget them;
       he does not ignore the afflicted's cry.
O Yahweh, see how my foes afflict me;
       pull me back from the doors of death
to proclaim your praises and rejoice in your
             salvation
       at the gates of the daughter of Zion.
The nations plunged into the trap they made,
       their feet caught in the snare they laid.
Yahweh has made himself known, and has judged,
       he has trapped the wicked by the work of
              their hands.
The wicked go back to the grave,
       all nations forgetful of God.
But the needy are not forgotten forever,
       the hope of the poor never dies.
Arise, O Yahweh, let not mortals triumph,
       let the nations be judged by your face.
O Yahweh, strike them with dread;
       let the nations know they are mortal.

(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))