Psalms 144
1 `A salm. Blessid be my Lord God, that techith myn hondis to werre; and my fyngris to batel.
David’s. Blessed be Yahweh, my Rock, who teacheth my hands to war, my fingers to fight:
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 lovingkindness and my stronghold, my high tower and my deliverer—mine! My buckler, and he in whom I have sought refuge, —He that subdueth my people under me.
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?
O Yahweh! what is the earthborn, And yet thou hast acknowledged him, —the son of a mortal, And yet thou hast taken account of him:
4 A man is maad lijk vanyte; hise daies passen as schadow.
The earthborn, resembleth, a vapour, his days, are like a passing shadow.
5 Lord, bowe doun thin heuenes, and come thou doun; touche thou hillis, and thei schulen make smoke.
O Yahweh! bow thy heavens and come down, Touch the mountains, 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, that thou mayest scatter them, Send out thine arrows, that thou mayest 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.
Put forth thy hands from on high: —Snatch me away and rescue me out of mighty waters, out of the hand of the sons of the alien,
8 The mouth of which spak vanite; and the riythond of hem is the riyt hond of wickidnesse.
Whose mouth, hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood.
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, will I sing unto thee, —On a harp of ten strings, will I make music to thee:
10 Which yyuest heelthe to kingis; which ayen bouytist Dauid, thi seruaunt, fro the wickid swerd rauische thou out me.
Who giveth victory unto kings—Who snatcheth away David his servant, from the calamitous sword.
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 away and rescue me out of he hand of the sons of the alien, —whose mouth hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood: —
12 Whose sones ben; as new plauntingis in her yongthe. The douytris of hem ben arayed; ourned about as the licnesse of the temple.
That, our sons, may be like plants well grown while yet young, —Our daughters, like corner pillars, —carved, in the construction of a palace:
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;
Our garners, full, pouring out from one kind to another; Our flocks, multiplying by thousands—by myriads, in our open fields:
14 her kien ben fatte. `No falling of wal is, nether passing ouere; nether cry is in the stretis of hem.
Our oxen, well-laden; no breaking in and no departing, —and no loud lament in our places of concourse: —
15 Thei seiden, `The puple is blessid, that hath these thingis; blessid is the puple, whos Lord is the God of it.
How happy the people that is in such a case! How happy the people that hath Yahweh for its God!
