Metrical Psalms 1 to 4 in Doric Scots


Psaulm Ene: Metrical Version (CM)


O fortunat’s the man fa’ll nae

In skellum’s coonsel waalk,

Nor staund in sinners’ wey, nor bide

Far fowk luiv fleerin taalk.


But wi the Law o God, His Lord,

He’ll find maist precious glee:

An ilka day and ilka nicht,

His Law he’ll warsle wi.


As ene transplantit by a burn,

He will be like a tree

Fas fruit’s on tyme; fas leaf ne’r faas:

His ploys will bear the gree.


The skellums surely arena sae

But, skailt like caff in hairst,

They’re fletherit by God’s ain braith

An blawn ti aa the airts!


For this, nae skellums e’er will rise

Ti deem, wi heids held hie,

Nor sinners tak a wycelike place

In lawfu’ companie.


For God kens weel the leal fowk

Fa follow His richt wey;

The gait the skellums gyang will God

Maist utterlie destroy.


© 2008 Translated from Hebrew into Doric Lowland Scots and versified by Bruce Gardner.




Psaulm Twa: Metrical Version (CM)


Fit wey dae foreign fowk aye rage,

An fash ilk alien horde?

Kings tak their stand; hie-heid-yins plot

‘gainst God an His sain’t* Lord:


“We’ll rax aff aa their slave-like bands

And fling their cords awa!”

He fa in Hivven sits jist lauchs

An maks feels o them aa.


But syne He spicks ti them in wrath

And fashes ‘em in rage:

“On Zion’s haly hill, I’ll forge

Ma king for aa this age.”


I will declare fit’s set in steen,

The Lord has said ti me;

“Ye are ma Son: iss very day,

I hae begotten ye.


Ask me: yon gadgies I will gie;

As heritage, they’ll faa.

The furthest airts ye will possess:

Ti ye, I’ll gie them aa!


Wi rod o iron, ye will wreck

The hale jing-bang o them;

Like potter, ye’ll smash aa ti bits

Tae mak aa ower again!”


And noo, behave yersels, ye kings!

Tak – judges – wyse rebuke;

Dae service ti the Lord in dreid,

Wi tremmlin, joyfu look.


Bosie the Prince, lest ‘e get wroth –

An blast ye in the wey;

His furie kinnles in a flash:

Bless’t aa that on Him stey!



(Note: * sain’t, or sained = English sanctified.)

© 2011, 2019 Translated from Hebrew into Doric Lowland Scots and versified by Bruce Gardner.




Psaulm Thrie: Metrical Version (CM)

A Psaulm o David, fan he fled fae Absalom, his son:


Ach, Lord, fit fowth o mony faes

Stert up agin masel,

Boastin ‘at nene will save ma saul –

“Nae help fae God,” they tell.


But ye, Lord are a targe ow’r me.

Ma Licht, fa lifts ma heid;

I ca’d ye, Lord; ma voice ye heard,

Fae yer haly heicht, gied heed.


I laid me doon; slept like the deid

Syne wauken’t wi a stert;

The Lord had kittl’t up ma life

And gien strength ti ma hert!


Tho mony thoosand fowk aa thrang

An roon me stert ti faa –

Nae even if they grim an glower! –

They’ll nae fleg me ava!


Rise, Lord, an lowse me fae ma faes!

Ye’ve duntit aa their jaws,

The skellums’ sherp teeth brak, ma God:

Bliss hale fa luives yer laws!



© 2008, 2019 Translated from Hebrew into Doric Lowland Scots and versified by Bruce Gardner.



Psaulm Fower: Metrical Version (CM)


“Gie me an answer fan I cry,

God o ma richteousness!

Ye braiden’t oot a nippit place,

Fan I wis in distress!


Hae mercy on me; hear ma prayer!”

“Fowk, foo lang will it be

Ye’ll turn ma glorie inte shame,

Luiv ferlies, sik a lee?”


But ken e LORD hes set apairt

The guid* man for His ain:

The LORD will surely heed ma cry

Fan I ti Him mak main.


Tremmle wi fear an dinna sin:

Spick sherp ti yer hert’s ill!

Mak sacrifices that are richt,

An trust in yer Lord still.


Och aye, there’s mony fowk that say

“Fa’ll schaw us guid* ava?”

O LORD, lift up yer mornin face,

Yer licht upon us aa!


Ye’ve pit mair gledness in ma hert,

Than they ken in that time,

Fan fowth of corn is gaither’t in

An vats teem ower wi wine.


I’ll aathegither courie doon.

I’ll sleep in peace, for sure:

Fer ye, LORD, are the anelie ene

Fa maks me bide secure.


Note: * guid is pronounced gweed in Doric.

© 2017, 2019 Translated from Hebrew into Doric Lowland Scots and versified by Bruce Gardner.

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