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Bha fuaim na gaoithe fuaire nis
R'a cluinntinn feadh nan craobh,
'S bha toirm an t-sruth, o chreig gu creig,
R'a chluinntinn air a' ghaoith.

Ach as an ionad ùdlaidh ud

Chaidh iobairt chùbhraidh suas
Bho chridhe briste, brùite, goirt
Nan deòraidh bochda, truagh;
Bho nèamh bha ainglean 'sealltuinn 'nuas
Le tlachd, san uair ud féin,
Air cinn na muinntir bha gun dàil
R'an crùnadh 'n làthair Dhé.

Na seann-daoin' dhichuimhnich am bròn,
A's mhaith gach eucoir chlaon,
'N uair chual' mu ghràdh an Ti a chuir
An ceanglaichibh fa sgaoil;

Na banntrich' ònrachdanach bhochd,
'S na dileachdain gun treòir,
Ghuidh air son maitheanas o Dhia
Do luchd na h-eucoir mhòir,

Na mnathan glas-neulach, lag, fann, Le 'n leanaban air an cìch, Bho'm fearaibh pòsda a's o'n clann Bh' air fògradh feadh na tìr'; 'Nan trioblaid bha ri gàirdeachas, 'An neo-shuim chuir an cràdh, 'Sri Grian an àigh gu'n d' sheall iad suas Le creidimh a's le gràdh.

Bha iomad òglach dubhach, sgìth,

A's claoidht' le fòirneart cruaidh,

Le 'n éideadh luideach, tolltach, sean,
'S gu peallach, dubh an gruag;
Le cridhe brùite sheinn le
gean
Mu chliù an Ti a's àird;
A's òrain Shion mheasg le toirm
An t-sruth a' ruith gu tràigh.

A's fear na h-uail' ged gheibh a suas
Ro àrd 'am beachd an t-sluaigh,

And venal pens, corroding brass,
Immortalize his name;

But unfading wreaths, celestial palms,
And crowns, are their reward

Who braved the despot when the sword
Of tyranny was bared!

PSALM CXLVIII.

Begin, my soul, the exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obey,
And praise th' Almighty's name.
Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise,

To swell the inspiring theme.

Ye fields of light, celestial plains,
Where gay transporting beauty reigns,
Ye scenes divinely fair:

Your Maker's wond'rous power proclaim,
Tell how he form'd your shining frame,
And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound,
While all the adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing;

Let ev'ry list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,

And touch the sweetest string.

Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou, dazzling orb of liquid fire,
The mighty chorus aid:

Soon as grey ev'ning shades the plain,
Thou, moon, protract the melting strain,
And praise him in the shade.

Thou, heav'n of heavens, his vast abode; Ye clouds proclaim your forming God, Who call'd yon worlds from night;

'S ged ni luchd-sodail mar a's àill Gu 'chuimhne chumail suas;

Tha palmaibh nèamhaidh, 's crùn nach searg Air a thasgaidh shuas gu h-àrd,

Do'n dream nach géill do luchd am fuath, 'N uair bhagras iad am bàs.

SALM CXLVIII.

O! m'anam, tog am fonn gu réidh,
'S do smuaintean uile thugadh géill,
A's seinneadh cliù do'n Triath.
Feuch! nèamh a's talamh, muir a's speur,
Tha 'togail suas an guth le chéil',
A' seinn do chliù gach ial.

A speuran àillidh 's dearsaich' fiamh,
Le 'r n-uile mhaise, dhreach a's sgiamh,
Thar iomraidh agus smaoin:
Air neart a' Chruithfhir 'deanamh sgéil,
Innsibh mar las e suas an speur,

'S a shéid e 'n t-àileadh caomh.

Le caithream togadh aingle 'm fonn,
'S gach ni tha os ar cionn 's fo'r bonn,
Mu 'ghràdh a tha gu bràth;
Na naoimh 'tha 'n sonas siorruidh shuas,
Deanadh iad luaidh air gràdh bith-bhuan,
A' seinn le laoidhibh dha.

A reultan, 'tha san iarmailt shuas,
'S a ghrian 'tha 'g òradh bheann a's chruach,
"Nis cuidicheadh am fonn:

Air magh, 'nuair dh'aomas an dubh-thràth, A' ghealach togadh suas gun dàil

A chliù le guth neo-thròm.

A nèamh nan nèamhan togaibh suas
Cliù a's glòir do Thriath nan sluagh
A rinn an cruinneadh cé;

"Ye shades, dispel!"-the Eternal said:
At once the involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow;

Ye dragons, bound his awful name
To heav'n aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.

Let every element rejoice:

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice
To Him who bids you roll;
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whispering breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.

To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own;

Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at his look,

And trembled at his frown.

Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects flutt'ring on the gale,
In mutual concourse rise;
Crop the gay rose's vermil bloom,
And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,
In incense to the skies.

Wake, all ye mounting tribes, and sing;
Ye plumy warblers of the spring,

Harmonious anthems raise

To Him who shap'd your finer mould,
Who tipp'd your glittering wings with gold,
And tun'd your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head
In heavenly praise employ;
Spread his tremendous name around,

Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,
The gen❜ral burst of joy.

"An duibhre teicheadh," thuirt e féin-
Gu grad an duibhre theich gu léir,
As nàdur dh'éirich suas.

Gach bith 'tha tàmh 's a' chruinne-ché,
Air làr 'tha dol, no shuas san speur,
Gu h-ait dha togaibh fonn:
A dhragonaibh, le'r neart ro threun,
Air 'ainm ro oirdhearc deanaibh sgeul,
Le doimhneachdan nan tonn.

Na dùilean fòs biodh ait gach ré:
'S an tàirneanach 'ni fuaim san speur
Dha togadh iollach àrd;

'S an oiteig shèimh le guth ro bhinn
Dha canadh cliù o linn gu linn,

A' seinn le comh-sheirm Dha.

A sheudair' àrda, cromaibh sìos;
'S a bheanntan mòralach gach tir,
Gach uair dha thugaibh géill;
Innsibh mar las beinn Shinai suas,
'S a chriothnaich i o bonn fo ghruaim
'N uair labhair e le 'bheul.

A spréidh a dh'ionaltrais 's na glinn,
'S gach cuileag bheag os ceann ar cinn,
Dha thugadh géill a's cliù;
Gearraibh an ròs a's deirge snuadh,
'S am fàileadh cùbhraidh éireadh suas
Mar thùis do Dhia nan dùl.

Dùisgibh, 'eunlaith bhinn nan geug,
'S gu ceòlmhor togaibh suas dha féin
'Ur n-òrain ait mu 'chliù;
Dha-san a thug dhuibh cuma's dreach,
Le iteach buidhe 's dearg fa seach,
Le càil a ghleusadh ciùil.

An duine fòs, le tuigse 's tùr,
Le cridhe 's ceann san d' chuir e iùil,
Dha thugadh moladh buan;
'A's 'ainm ro uasal sgaoileadh 'n céin,
A' toirt mac-tal' air ais o'n speur,
Le iolach ait, bith-bhuan.

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