Psalms 2
1 Why have nations tumultuously assembled? And do peoples meditate vanity?
Whi gnastiden with teeth hethene men; and puplis thouyten veyn thingis?
2 Station themselves do kings of the earth, And princes have been united together, Against Jehovah, and against His Messiah:
The kyngis of erthe stoden togidere; and princes camen togidere ayens the Lord, and ayens his Crist?
3 'Let us draw off Their cords, And cast from us Their thick bands.'
Breke we the bondis of hem; and cast we awei the yok of hem fro vs.
4 He who is sitting in the heavens doth laugh, The Lord doth mock at them.
He that dwellith in heuenes schal scorne hem; and the Lord schal bimowe hem.
5 Then doth He speak unto them in His anger, And in His wrath He doth trouble them:
Thanne he schal speke to hem in his ire; and he schal disturble hem in his stronge veniaunce.
6 'And I — I have anointed My King, Upon Zion — My holy hill.'
Forsothe Y am maad of hym a kyng on Syon, his hooli hil; prechynge his comaundement.
7 I declare concerning a statute: Jehovah said unto me, 'My Son Thou [art], I to-day have brought thee forth.
The Lord seide to me, Thou art my sone; Y haue gendrid thee to dai.
8 Ask of Me and I give nations — thy inheritance, And thy possession — the ends of earth.
Axe thou of me, and Y schal yyue to thee hethene men thin eritage; and thi possessioun the termes of erthe.
9 Thou dost rule them with a sceptre of iron, As a vessel of a potter Thou dost crush them.'
Thou schalt gouerne hem in an yrun yerde; and thou schalt breke hem as the vessel of a pottere.
10 And now, O kings, act wisely, Be instructed, O judges of earth,
And now, ye kyngis, vndurstonde; ye that demen the erthe, be lerud.
11 Serve ye Jehovah with fear, And rejoice with trembling.
Serue ye the Lord with drede; and make ye ful ioye to hym with tremblyng.
12 Kiss the Chosen One, lest He be angry, And ye lose the way, When His anger burneth but a little, O the happiness of all trusting in Him!
Take ye lore; lest the Lord be wrooth sumtyme, and lest ye perischen fro iust waie. Whanne his `ire brenneth out in schort tyme; blessed ben alle thei, that tristen in hym.
