Psaulm Twal *
(Ti the Star Musician, for an eight-string.)
Save, LORD, because the godly man,
Looks like he’s near his eynd:
Amang the bairns o Adam’s race,
The faithfu’s hard ti find.
Ilk man wi his ain niebour spicks
Mere words o vanity;
Wi sleekit lips an double-herts,
They haver deviously.
The LORD will cut aff sleekit lips
An tongues that spick big, thus:
“We’ll bear the gree wi oor ain tongues:
Fa’ll lord it ower us?”
“For aa th’oppression o the peer,
The needy’s painfu moan,”
The LORD says, “Noo I’ll rise, ti guard
Fa’s coorsely breathed upon.”
The sayins o the LORD are pure,
His words like siller, tried
In earthen furnace, seven-fauld:
By fire, they’re purified.
O LORD, Ye’ll set a watch ow’r them:
Ye’ll guard their purity,
And keep them, fae iss present age
Ti aa eternity.
The wicked fowk will walk aboot,
Ti aa airts o the land,
Fan they, the lowest o the low,
Are gien the upper hand.
Translated from Hebrew into Doric, 2017, 2019, by Bruce Gardner.
* ‘Twal’ appears in an old, parochial expression of the Aberdonian: “Tak awa Aiberdeen an twal mile roon’ and far are ye?” Kemnay makes it in by a whisker! 😉
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