Psalms 144
1 `A salm. Blessid be my Lord God, that techith myn hondis to werre; and my fyngris to batel.
Of David. Blest be the Lord my rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for fighting.
2 Mi merci, and my refuyt; my takere vp, and my delyuerer. Mi defender, and Y hopide in him; and thou makist suget my puple vnder me.
My rock and my fortress, my tower, my deliverer, my shield, behind whom I take refuge, who lays nations low at my feet.
3 Lord, what is a man, for thou hast maad knowun to him; ether the sone of man, for thou arettist him of sum valu?
Lord, what are mortals that you care for them, humans, that you think of them?
4 A man is maad lijk vanyte; hise daies passen as schadow.
They are like a breath, their days as a shadow that passes.
5 Lord, bowe doun thin heuenes, and come thou doun; touche thou hillis, and thei schulen make smoke.
Lord, bow your heavens and come down: touch the hills, so that they smoke.
6 Leite thou schynyng, and thou schalt scatere hem; sende thou out thin arowis, and thou schalt disturble hem.
Flash forth lightning and scatter them, your arrows send forth and confound them.
7 Sende out thin hond fro an hiy, rauysche thou me out, and delyuere thou me fro many watris; and fro the hond of alien sones.
Stretch out your hand from on high; pluck me out of the mighty waters, out of the hands of foreigners,
8 The mouth of which spak vanite; and the riythond of hem is the riyt hond of wickidnesse.
who speak with the mouth of falsehood, and lift their right hand to swear lies.
9 God, Y schal synge to thee a new song; I schal seie salm to thee in a sautre of ten stringis.
O God, a new song I would sing you, on a ten-stringed harp make you music.
10 Which yyuest heelthe to kingis; which ayen bouytist Dauid, thi seruaunt, fro the wickid swerd rauische thou out me.
For to kings you give the victory, and David your servant you save.
11 And delyuere thou me fro `the hond of alien sones; the mouth of whiche spak vanyte, and the riythond of hem is the riyt hond of wickidnesse.
Snatch me from the cruel sword, rescue me from the hand of foreigners, who speak with the mouth of falsehood, and lift their right hand to swear lies.
12 Whose sones ben; as new plauntingis in her yongthe. The douytris of hem ben arayed; ourned about as the licnesse of the temple.
May our sons in their youth be as plants well tended: our daughters like cornices carved as in palaces.
13 The selers of hem ben fulle; bringinge out fro this vessel in to that. The scheep of hem ben with lambre, plenteuouse in her goingis out;
May our barns be bursting with produce of all kinds. In the fields may our sheep bear by thousands and ten thousands.
14 her kien ben fatte. `No falling of wal is, nether passing ouere; nether cry is in the stretis of hem.
May our cattle be fat, our walls unbreached, may no cry of distress ring in our streets.
15 Thei seiden, `The puple is blessid, that hath these thingis; blessid is the puple, whos Lord is the God of it.
Happy the people who fares so well: and so fares the people whose God is the Lord.
