Gàidhlig
Salm 55
Rim ùrnaigh èisd; 's om ghuidhe, Dhè, na falaich thus' thu fhèin. Thoir aire 's freagradh dhomh, tha caoidh le bròn 's le bùireadh geur; Airson guth m'eascairdean gu lèir, is fòirneart fòs nan daoi; Oir euceart thilg iad orm, am feirg dhomh thug iad fuath gun dìth. Mo chridh' am chom tha cràiteach goirt; thuit ormsa uamhann bàis. Crith, oillt, is uamhann thàinig orm, gam shlugadh is mi 'n sàs. 'N sin thubhairt mi, Is truagh nach robh sgiath calmain agam nis! 'N sin theichinn as ag itealaich, is gheibhinn tàmh is fois. Feuch, shiùbhlainn fòs air ànradh fad, chum tàimh am fàsach cruaidh; Is dhèanainn deifir gu dol as o dhoineann gharbh na gaoith'. Dhia, roinn is sgrios an teang'; sa bhail' bha fòirneart agus strì. Tàid dol ma bhallan oidhch' is là; tha aimhleas ann is caoidh. Eucoir ro-mhòr is olc a ta na mheadhon siud gun cheist; Seadh, feall ra shràidean agus cealg cha dealaich siud am feasd. Cha b'e mo nàmh thug masladh dhomh, oir dh'fhuilnginn siud gu rèidh; Cha b'e fear m'fhuath' a dh'èirich rium, oir dhìonainn uaith' mi fhèin. Ach thusa, fear bu cho-impir dhomh, fear m'eòlais, is fear m'iùil; Bu bhlasd' ar comhairl', dol le càch, gu àros Dhè nan dùl. Sealbh gabhadh orr' am bàs gu grad, 's gu ifrinn thèid iad beò; Oir aingidheachd nan còmhnaidh ghnàth, 's nam buillsgean, tha gach lò. Ach mise, glaodham suas ri Dia, saoraidh Iehòbhah mi. Glaodh àrd, is ùrnaigh nì mi ris, moch, feasgar, 's meadhon-là; Is èisdidh e gu grad rim ghlaodh; M'anam 's e shaor an sìth, On chath 's on chòmhraig dh'èirich rium, is mòran rium ri strì. Cluinnidh an Dia tha làidir beò, 's bheir dòrainn orra 's pian; Seadh fòs an Dia air maireann tha, 's a bha o chian nan cian. Is air an adhbhar fòs nach eil caochladh air bith nan staid, Eagal an Tighearn uime sin do thilg iad dhuibh air fad. A làmh do shìn nan aghaidh siud, a bha an sìochaint ris; A chùmhnant is a nasgadh dlùth, gu fealltach orra bhris. Bu shleamhna briathran bhèil na 'n t-ìm, ach cogadh cruaidh na rùn; Bu bhuige chainnt na oladh thlàth, 's i ghnàth mar chlaidheamh rùisgt'. Ach tilg-sa d'eallach trom air Dia, 's e nì do chumail suas; Cha leig e 'm feasd don fhìrean chòir o shocair fhèin gun gluais; Ach thus', a Thighearna nam feart, ad chorraich cheirt gu geur, An sloc dam milleadh tilgidh tu an aitim ud gu lèir; Na daoine sligheach fuileachdach, cha mhair iad leth an làith'; Ach annad cuiridh mis', a Dhè, mo dhòchas is mo dhòigh.
(Bho Tiomnadh Nuadh, Dùn Eideann (2002))
English
Psalm 55
For the choirmaster. For strings. Poem. Of David.
Hear my prayer, O God,
do not ignore my plea.
Hear me and answer me,
my cares leave me no peace.
I am quaking at the hostile shouts,
at the clamour of the wicked,
who heap up trouble against me
and revile me in their fury.
My heart is torn with anguish;
the terrors of death attack me.
Fear and trembling beset me;
horror has overwhelmed me.
I cry for the wings of a dove
to fly away and be at peace,
to escape far away and be safe in the desert.
I would soon find myself a nest,
far from the deluge and storm.
Confuse the wicked, O Lord,
frustrate their plotting,
I see riot and strife in the city.
Day and night they prowl round its walls;
rumour and scandal are in it.
Destructive forces roam free in the city;
threats and lies never leave its streets.
If a foe was insulting me,
I could endure it;
if a foe rose against me,
I could avoid him.
But it is you, my equal
who shared my bread, my closest friend,
whom I once joined in fellowship
as we walked with the crowd in the house
of God.
Let death take my enemies unawares;
let them go to the grave alive,
for evil shares their home with them.
But I call to God,
and Yahweh will save me.
At dusk, dawn and noon
I cry out in distress,
and he listens to me.
He ransoms me and gives me peace
from the strife against me,
though many oppose me.
God, enthroned in eternity,
will hear them and strike them,
who never change, never fear God.
Such a person strikes his friends,
violates his covenant;
with a mouth as smooth as butter
but a heart that harbours war;
with words that seem smoother than oil,
yet they cut like drawn swords.
On Yahweh cast your cares;
he will sustain you.
He never lets the righteous fall.
You, O God, will thrust down the wicked
into corruption's pit;
thirsty for blood and devious,
they will not live half their days.
But I trust in you.
(From The Psalms, Slough (1994))