[A CORPUS OF BIBLICAL TEXTS IN SCOTS] The Schuppin o' the Warl I' the ingang God schuppit the hevin and the erd. And the erd wes wust and vide; and the mirk happit the face o' the depe: and the Gheist o' God steerit apo' the face o' the watirs. And quo' God, Lat thar be licht: and licht wes. And God saw the licht, that it wes guid: and God sinder't the licht frae the mirk. And God ca'd the licht Day, and the mirk He ca'd Nicht. And thar wes e'enin and thar wes mornin, ae day. And quo' God, Lat thar be a lift i' the mids o' the watirs, and lat it sinder the watirs frae the watirs. And God schuppit the lift, and sinder't the watirs whilk war aneath the lift frae the watirs whilk war abune the lift: and it wes sae. And God ca'd the lift Hevin. And thar wes e'enin and thar wes mornin, a saicond day. And quo' God, Lat the watirs ablow the hevin be gaither't thegither ontill ae bit, and lat the histie lan kythe: and it wes sae. And God ca'd the histie lan Erd: and the gaitherin thegither o' the watirs ca'd He Seas: and God saw that it wes guid. And quo' God, Lat the erd fesh furth gerss, yirb giean seid, and frute tree giean frute eftir its kin', whaurin is the seid o't, apo' the erd: and it wes sae. And the erd fotch furth gerss, yirb giean seid eftir its kin', and tree giean frute, whaurin is the seid o't, eftir its kin': and God saw that it wes guid. And thar wes e'enin and thar wes mornin, a thrid day. And quo' God, Lat thar be lichts i' the lift o' the hevin till sinder the day frae the nicht; and lat thame be for witters and for saizzons and for days and yeir: and lat thame be for lichts i' the lift o' the hevin to gie licht apo' the erd: and it wes sae. And God made the twa muckle lichts, the muckler licht to rewl the day, and the wee'r licht to rewl the nicht: He made the starns als. And God set thame i' the lift o' the hevin till gie licht apo' the erd and till rewl owre the day and owre the nicht, and till sinder the licht frae the mirk: and God saw that it wes guid. And thar wes e'enin and thar wes mornin, a fowrt day. And quo' God, Lat the watirs fesh furth rowthily the steerin craitur whilk haes life, and lat birds flee abune the erd i' the apen lift o' hevin. And God schuppit muckle whaals, and ilka leevin craitur that steers, whilk the watirs brang furth rowthily, eftir thair kin's, and ilka weengit bird eftir its kin': and God saw that it wes guid. And God sained thame, sayan, Be frutefu' and multiplie, and full the watirs i' the seas, and lat birds multiplie i' the erd. And thar was e'enin and thar wes mornin, a fyft day. And quo' God, Lat the erd fesh furth the leevin craitur eftir its kin', nowte, and crowlin thing, and beiss o' the erd eftir its kin': and it wes sae. And God made the beiss eftir its kin', and the nowte eftir thair kin', and a'thing that crowls apo' the grun eftir its kin': and God saw that it wes guid. And quo' God, Lat us schupe man in oor maik, eftir oor seim: and lat thame hae gree owre the fysche o' the sea and owre the birds o' the lift, and owre the nowte, and owre a' the erd, and owre ilka crowlin haet whilk crowls apo' the erd. And God schuppit man in His ain maik, i' the maik o' God schuppit He him; lad and lass-baim schuppit He thame. And God sained thame: and quo' God till thame, Be frutefu', and multiplie, and refull the erd, and cuddem it; and bear the gree owre the fysche o' the sea, and owre the birds o' the lift, and owre ilka leevin haet whilk steers apo' the erd. And quo' God, Behauld, I hiv gien ye ilka yirb giean seid, whilk is apo' the face o' a' the erd, and iIka tree, i' the whilk is the frute o' a tree giean seid; till yo it sal be for meit: and till ilka beiss o' the erd, and till ilka bird o' the lift, and till ilk haet that crowls apo' the erd, whaurin thar is life, I hiv gien ilka grene yirb for meit: and it wes sae. And God saw ilk haet that He haed made, and, lo, it wes vera guid. And thar wes e'enin and thar wes mornin, the saxt day. And they hard the voce o the Lord God, daunerin in the yaird in the lown time o the day, and Adam and his guidwife coorit doon amang the trees in the yaird, awa frae the sicht o God. And the Lord God caad tae Adam, and said tae him, 'Whaur are ye?' Quo he, 'Ah heard yer voce in the yaird and Ah was feart for Ah was scuddy-nakit, sae Ah coorit awa'. Quo He. 'Wha telt ye ye were scuddy-nakit? Hae ye prieit the tree whilk Ah telt ye no tae prie?'Quo the man, 'The wumman ye gied tae be wi me, she gied me o the tree, and Ah hae etten'. And the Lord God said tae the wumman. 'What hae ye dune?' Quo the wumman, 'The edder begowkit me and Ah hae etten. And the Lord God said tae the edder, 'Sin ye hae sae dune, Ah ban ye abune aa nowt, and abune aa beass o the rig; on yer wame sall ye gang and stour sall be yer vittle aa the days o yer life. And Ah sall hae ill-wull pitten atween ye and the wumman, and atween yer cleckin and her weans: the weans sall ding yer held, and ye sall brize their fit'. And thay hard the vice o' the Lord God waukin i' the garth i' the cule o' the day: and Edie and his gudewife hade thairsels frae the sicht o' the Lord God mangs the trees o' the garth. And the Lord God ca'd ontill Edie, and quo' He till him, Whaur bestoo? And quo' he, I hard yer vice i' the garth, and I wes afeart, acause I wes nakit; and I scuggit mysel. And quo' He, Wha tauld ye that ye war nakit? Hae ye pree'd the tree, o' the whilk I tairge't ye that ye sudna eit? And quo Edie, The wumman wham ye gied to be wi' me, scho gae me o' the tree, and I eitit. And quo' the Lord God ontill the wumman, What is this whilk ye hiv dune? And quo' the wumman, The serpent begunkit me, and I eitit. And quo' the Lord God ontill the serpent, Acause ye hae dune this, banned are ye aboon a' nowte, and aboon ilka beiss o' the fiel; agrufe sal ye gang, and stoor sal ye eit a' the days o' yer life: and I'll pit feidom atween ye and the wumman, and atween yer seid and hir seid: it sal birze yer heid, and ye sal birze his heill. Sacrifeece o' Izaak And it cam aboot eftir thir things that God pruved Abraham, and said ontill him, Abraham; and quo' he, Heir am I. And quo' He, Tak noo yer son, yer ae son, wham ye loe, e'en Izaak, and gang intill the lan o' Moriah; and offer him thare for a brunt offran apon ane o' the heichts whilk I'll tell ye o'. And Abraham rase air morrow, and saidl't his eizel, and tuik twa o' his callans, wi'm, and Izaak his son; and he chappit the wud for the brunt offran. and rase, and gaed intill the bit o' whilk God haed tell't him. O' the thrid day Abraham heized his een, and saw the bit a lang wey aff. And quo' Abraham ontill his callans, Stey ye heir wi' the eizel, and I and the bairn 'll gang yonner; and we'll wirschip, and come bak t' ye. And Abraham tuik the wud o' the brunt offran, and pat it apon Izaak his son; and he tuik in his haun the lowe and the whittle; and they fure baith o' thame thegither. And Izaak spak ontill Abraham his faither, and said, Faither: and quo' he, Heir am I, my bairn. And quo' he, Behauld, the lowe and the wud: bot whaur is the lam for a brunt offran? And quo' Abraham, God'll fend hissel a lam for a brunt offran, my bairn: sae thay yeid baith o' thame thegither. And thay cam to the bit whilk God tell't him o'; and Abraham biggit a cromlech thare, and saw till the wud, and bun Izaak his son, and streekit him o' the cromlech apo' the wud. And Abraham rax't forrit his haun, and tuik the whittle till slachter his son. And the eeran- rinner o' the Lord ca'd till 'm oot o' hevin, and said, Abraham, Abraham: and quo' he, Heir am I. And quo' He, Pit-na yer haun apo' the bairn, nouther dae ocht ontill him: for noo I ken that ye dreddour God, sin ye hivna wi'hauden yer son, yer ae son, frae Me. And Abraham liftit up his een, and luikit, and lo, ahint him a toop cotchan in a buss be his horns: and Abraham gaed and tuik the toop, and offer't him up for a brunt offran insteid o' his son. And Abraham ca'd the name o' that bit 'Jehovah-jireh': as it is said till enoo, i' the munt o' the Lord it sal be 'fendit.' And the eeran-rinner o' the Lord ca'd ontill Abraham a saicond time oot o' hevin, and said, Be Mysel hiv I swurn, quo' the Lord, sith ye hae dune this thing, and hivna wi'hauden yer son, yer ae son: that in sainin I wull sain ye, and in multipliean I wull multiplie yer ootcome as the starns o' the hevin, and as the saun whilk is apo' the rive; and yer ootcome sal bruik the yett o' his faes; and i' yer ootcome sal a' the natiouns o' the erd be sained; sith ye hiv obtemperit My voce. Sae Abraham gaed back to his callans, and thay rase up and fure thegither to Beer-sheba; and Abraham dwalt at Beer-sheba. Jakob Blythe-bidden And it cam aboot, that whan Izaak wes auld, and his een war bleer't, sae that he cudna see, he ca'd Esau his auld son, and said to him, My son: and quo' he till him, Heir am I. And quo' he, Behauld noo, I'se auld, I kenna the day o' my dede. Noo tharfor tak, prethy, yer wappins, yer dorlach and yer bow, and gang oot to the fiel, and tak me venysoun; and mak me smewy meit, sic as I loe, and fesh it to me, that I mot eit; that my saul mot sain ye or I dee. And Rebekah hard whan Izaak spak till Esau his son. And Esau gaed to the fiel till stauk for venysoun, and till fesh it. And Rebekah spak ontill Jakob hir son, sayan: Behauld, I hard yer faither speik ontill Esau yer brither, sayan, Fesh me venysoun, and mak me smewy meit, that I mot eit, and sain ye fornent the Lord afore my dede. Noo tharfor, my son, obtemper my vice conform to that whilk I commaun ye. Gae noo to the hirsle, and fesh me tharfra twa guid kids o' the gaits; and I'll mak thame smewy meit for yer faither, sic as he loes: and ye'se fesh it to yer faither, that he mot eit, sae that he mot sain ye afore his dede. And quo' Jakob till Rebekah his mither, Lo, Esau my brither is boozy, and I'se smeeth. Aiblins my faither'll fin' me, and I'se kythe till him as a swick; and I'se fesh a winze apon me and no a blessin. And quo' his mither till him, Apon me be yer winze, my son: onlie obtemper my vice, and gae fesh me thame. And he fure, and fush, and brang thame till his mither: and his mither made smewy meit sic as his faither loed. And Rebekah tuik the braw cleedin o' Esau hir auld son, whilk wes wi' hir i' the hoose, and pat thame apon Jakob hir young son: and sche pat the skins o' the kids o' the gaits apon his hauns, and apon the smeeth pairt o' his hals: and sche gied the smewy meit and the breid, which she haed preparit, intill the haun o' hir son Jakob. And he cam till his faither, and said, My faither: and quo' he, Heir am I: wha are ye, my son? And quo' Jakob till his faither, I'se Esau yer ferstborn; I hiv dune conform to yer bidden: up, prethy, sit and eit o' my venysoun, that yer saul mot sain me. And quo' Izaak till his son, Hoo is't that ye hiv fun it sae radly, my son? And quo' he, Acause the Lord yer God brocht it till me. And quo' Isaak till Jakob, Come nar, prethy, that I mot fin' ye, my son, whither ye be my son Esau hissel or no. And Jakob gaed nar till Izaak his faither; and he fan him, and said. The vice is Jakob's vice, bot the hauns are the hauns o' Esau. And he tartl't him nane, sin his hauns war boozy, as his brither Esau's hauns: sae he sained him. And quo' he, Are ye akwally my son Esau? And quo' he, I am. And quo' he, Fesh it nar t'me, and I'se eit o' my son's venysoun, that my saul mot sain yo. And he fotch it nar till him, and he eitit: and he fotch him wyne, and he drank. And his faither Izaak said ontill him, Come nar noo, and smoorich me, my son. And he cam nar and smoorich't him: and he felt the smell o' his claes, and sained him, and said: See, the saur o' my son Is as the saur o' a fiel whilk the Lord has sained: And God gie ye o' the techrys o' hevin, And o' the mergh o' the erd, And rowth o' corn and wyne: Lat peopils ser' ye, And natiouns boo doon t'ye: Be laird owre yer brether, And lat yer mither's sons coorie t'ye: Ban't be ilk ane that bans ye, And sained be ilk ane that sains ye. And it cam aboot, as sune's Izaak haed fineist sainin Jakob, and Jakob was yit hardlies gane oot frae the praisence o' Izaak his faither, that Esau his brither cam in frae his stankin. And he als made smewy meat, and brocht it till his faither; and quo' he till his faither, Lat my faither get up, and eit o' his son's venysoun, that yer saul mot sain me. And quo' Izaak his faither till him, Wha are ye? And quo' he, I'se yer son, yer ferstborn, Esau. And Izaak trimml't uncolies, and said, Wha syne is he that haes taen venysoun, and fotchan it t'me, and I hiv etten o' a' or ye cam, and hiv sained him? aye, and he sal be sained. Whan Esau hard the wirds o' his faither, he loot an unco lood and waesum scraigh, and said to his faither, Sain me, e'en me als, o my faither. And quo' he, Is he no richtlie ca'd 'Jakob'? for he haes 'twiddl't' me thir twa times: he tuik awa my burthricht; and, Jo, noo he haes taen awa my blythe-bidden. Rebecca said to hir sonn Jacob, I herd thi fader spekand with Esau thi bruther, and sayand to him, Bring thou to me of thi hunting, and mak thou metis that I ete, and that I blesse thee befoir the Lord, befoir that I dee. Now, tharfor, my sonn, assent to my consalis, And ga to the flock and bring to me the ij best kiddis, that I mak metis of tha to thi fader, quhilk he etis glaidlie; And that quhen thou has broucht in tha metis, and that he has etin, he blesse thee befoire that he dee. To quham Jacob ansuerd, Thou knawis that Esau my bruther is ane hairy man, alsa I am smothe. Gif my fader tuiches and felis me, I drede or perauentur he gesse that I wald scorn him, and or he bring in cursing on me for blessing. To quham the moder said, My sonn, this cursing be in me: aanly here thou my voce, and ga and bring that that I said. Than Naomi spak tae her two guid-dochters. 'Gang back, baith o ye tae yer mithers' hames. The Lord keep troth wi ye as ye hae keepit troth wi the deed and wi me: Ah howp He gies ye, ilk ane, a guid doonsettin in the hame o anither guid man'. She kissit them and they grat sair. Than said they tae her, 'We sall gang wi ye tae yer ain fowk'. But Naomi said, 'Gang hame, lasses, gang hame. Fou suld ye gang wi me? Amna Ah owre auld tae hae onie mair sons? Gang hame, lasses, gang hame. Ah'm owre auld tae merry a saicond time. Gif Ah were tae ligg in jizzen and hae sons wald ye bide till they were men-bodies? It waidna be wyce gif ye were tae nay-say anither merridge. Na, na, lasses. Ah hae a wersher weird than ye tae dree, for the Lord has been agin me'. Than Orpah kissit her guidmither and airtit awa hame tae her ain fowk, but Ruth bidit wi Naomi. 'Atweel' quo Naomi, 'yer guidsister has gaen awa hame tae her ain fowk and her gods, gang ye wi her.' 'Dinna yoke on me tae gang and lat ye bide yer leelane' Ruth said. 'Whaur ye gang Ah sall gang and whaur ye bide Ah sall bide. Yer kin sall be ma kin, and yer God sall be ma God. Whaur ye dee Ah sall dee and thair sall Ah be yirdit. Ah tak ma aith afore the Lord yer God naething but daith sall gar us twine'. Than quo' Naaomi tui hyr tweae guid-dowchters, 'Gang away! geae bak ylk eane o'ye tui (y)eir ayn muther's hooss! the Loard bey guid tui-ye, az (y)ee've bein guid tui mey, an' tui thaim at's geane. The Loard grant at (y)e mae fynd raest, yikin o'ye (y)eir ayn hooss, wui a man o (y)eir ayn!' Than schui kysst them, an' thay beguid a-greitein lood an' sayr. An' thay said tyll'er 'Aeh but! wey'll gang heame wui yuw, tui (y)eir ayn fuok. But Naaomi said, 'Turn agean, ma dowchters! quhat wad-ye gang wui mey for? Ym aa gaand-a-hae onie meae bairns tui bey maen for-(y)e? Turn bak, ma dowchters, gang yeir ways, for aa'm ower aald tui hae a man. Yf aa was tui say, Aa've huope, aey, an' yf aa'd a man thys vaerra neycht, an' was tui hae bairns as weil, wad-(y)e wait on- them quhyl thay greuw up, wad-(y)e staye frae haein' maen for thaim? Naa! naa! ma dowchters, for aa 'm sayr vaext for yuwr seakes at the haand o the Loard hes geane seae agean us.' An' thay cryed oot lood, an' grat ageane, an' Orpah kysst hyr guid- muther, but Ruith hang bey 'er. An' schui said, 'Sey, (y)eir guid-syster's geane away heame, tui her ayn fuok, an' tui her gods; geae 'way yuw tui, after (y)eir guid-syster.' An' Ruith said, 'O dynna treit on-us tui leeve-(y)e, or tui gang bak frae cumein aefter (y)e, for quhayr-ever (y)ee gang, aa'l gang, an' quhayr (y)ee beyde, aa'l beyde; yoor fuok 'll bey maa fuok, an' yoor God maa God. Quhayr (y)ee dey, aa'll dey, an' bey laid the greave theare aseyde-(y)e: the Loard dui-seae an' mayr tui mey, yf owcht but death cum atwein yuw an' mey!' An' Naaome hed a freind bey hyr guid-man's seyde o the hooss, a rowthie man duian' weil i the wor'lt, an' eane o Eleimelek's kyn; an' thay caa'd 'ym Boaz. An' Ruith the Moabeyte lass said tui Naaome, 'Laet's gang oot ontui the haerst-ryg neh, an' gaether the heids o cuorn ahynt onie at aa mae fynd greace i ther seycht.' An' schui said tyll'er, 'Gang (y)eir ways, ma lassie.' An' schui geade oot, an' cam an' beguid a gaetherin' onna the haerst-ryg ahynt the scheirers, an' az hap wad hae'd, dyd-n' schui leycht on a byt o the feild at was Boaz's, hym at was eane o Eleimeleks ayn kyn. Aweil than, Boaz cam oot frie Baethlem, an' says tui the scheirers, 'The Loard bey wui-ye!' An' thay aansert bak, 'The Loard blyss-(y)e!' Than Boaz says tui the greive at was stan'an' ower the scheirers, 'Quheae's auwcht thys lass than?' An' the greive at stuid ower the scheirers taelld 'ym, an' said, 'That's the Moabeyte lass, at cam back wui Naaome frae the laand o Moab; an' schui axt-us, "Aa baeg o'ye, laet-us gaether ahynt the scheirers, amang the stooks." Seae schui cam, an' hes bydden heir Ira' the muornin' tyl duist eenuw, at schui baid a wee quheyle i the hooss.' Than Boaz said tui Ruith, 'Heir (y)e, ma lass, dynna gang tui gaether ynna onie uther feild, nor gang away frae heir avaa, but beyde heir cluoss aseyde maa maydens. Keip (y)eir ein onna the feild at thay're scheiran', an' gang ahynt-them; haev-n' aa chairget the laads no tui fasch-(y)e; an' quhan (y)e're drye, gang tui the cans, an' teake a drynk o quhatever the laads tuim oot.' Than schui faell doon onna 'er feace, an' buw'd 'ersel tui the grund, an' said, 'Huw ys't at aa've fund greace i (y)eir seycht, for (y)e tui teake nuotice o mey, syn aa'm eane o the fraemd.' An' Boaz taelld-'er, an' said tyl-'er, 'Aa've bein luitten kaen the heale stuorie, aa' huw (y)ee've duin tui (y)eir guid-muther syn the deathe o (y)eir ayn man, an' huw (y)e've lae'ft (y)eir faither an' muther an' the laand o (y)eir byrth, an' cumd heir amang a fuok at (y)e kaennd nowchts aboot afuore. Mae the Loard requeyte (y)eir dui ins an' a heale rewaird bey gie'n-(y)e frae the Loard God o Ysrel, at (y)e've cumd tui lyppen (y)eirsel anunder'ys wyngs!' Than schui said, 'Laet mey fynd fayver ynna (y)eir seycht, ma luord! for (y)e've comfortit-us, an' spoken haertsum wurds tui (y)eir haand- mayden, athoa aa'm noa tui bey coontit leyke onie eane o (y)eir maydens.' An' Boaz taelld'er, 'At meale-teymes cum forrat, an' teake a beyte o the breid, an' dyp (y)eir peice the vynniegar.' An' schui sat doon aseyde the scheirers, an' hey raaxt'er bye ruostit cuorn, an' schui eitit 'er fyll an' geade 'er ways. An' quhan schui'd rys'n up tui gaether, Boaz chairget the laads, an' said, 'Laet'er gaether forrat amang the scheives, an' dynna challinge 'er, An' laet faa' a naeffu nuw an' than wullantlie for 'er, an' dynna fynd faat wui'r.' Seae schui gaethert on the feild tyl neycht, an' schui thruisch oot quhat schui hed gaethert, an' yt meade the faeck o tweae haffuw o baarlie. An' schui lyftit it up, an' geade 'er ways ynta the toon; an' 'er guid-muther saa quhat schui hed gaethert, an' schui browcht oot an' gae 'er quhat schui hed laeft ower, aefter schui haed aneuwch. An' 'er guidmuther axt 'er, 'Quhayr hae-ye bein gaetheran' the-day? An' quhayr hae-ye w'rowcht? Blyssins onna hym at hae teane nuotice o'ye.' An' schui luit hyr guid-muther kaen quheae yt was at schui hed gaethert wui, an' says schui, 'Thay caa the man Boaz at aa was wurkan' wui the-day.' An' Naaomie said tui 'er guid-dowchter, 'Blyssins On 'ym frae the Loard, at haes-na gie'n ower 'ys keyndness tui the leivan an' the deid.' An' Naaomie taelld'er, 'The man's a naerr freind o oor ayn, eane o oor neist o kyn.' An' Ruith said, 'Hey taelld-us tui, "(y)ee maen beyde cluoss aseyde maa laads, tyl thay 've duin wui aa' maa haerst."' An' Naaomie said tui Ruith, hyr guid-dowchter, 'Yt's weill for-ye, ma dowchter, tui gang alang wui hyz maydens, at thay mae no meit wui-ye yn onie uther feild.' Seae schui stak cluoss be Boazis maydens, an' gaethert, tyl the baarlie haerst an' the quheit haerst was beath duin. An' schui baid wui 'er guidmuther. Ae day, Ruth's guidmither Naomi said tae her, 'Ma dochter, Ah suld be blythe gin ye had a guid doonsettin. Noo, thair is our kinsman, Boaz: ye were wi his lasses. The nicht he dichts bere at his threshie-flair. Whan ye hae wushen and buskit yersel, pit on yer mantua, gang doon tae the threshie-flair, but dinna mak yersel kent tae the man till he is by etten and drinkin. But whan he liggs doon, tak tent o the bit whaur he liggs. Than, gang in, heize the cloak at his fit, and ligg doon. He sall tell ye what tae dae'. 'Ah sall dae strauchtlie what ye tell me', quo Ruth. Sae she gaed doon tae the threshie-flair, and did strauchtlie what her guidmither telt her. When Boaz had etten and drunkan he was gie contentit wi the warld, and gaed awa tae ligg at the faur end o the bere bing. She cam in stownlins, heizit the cloak at his fit and liggit doon. About midnicht some orra thing awaukent the sleepin man; he rowt owre, and, ma certes, wasna thair a wumman liggin at his fit! 'Wha are ye?' he speirt. 'Ah'm yer servin-lass Ruth' quo she. 'Noo, hap yer cloak owre yer frien, for ye are ma neist o kin'. Quo he, 'The Lord has sainit ye, ma dochter. This last prief o yer lealty is faur mair nor the firsten; ye hinna socht efter onie callant, weel-alf or puir. Dinna fash yersel, ma dochter. Ah sall dae what is askit; for aa the neeborhood kens ye are an eident wumman. Are ye shair Ah'm the neist of kin? Thair's ane mair sib tae ye than Ah am. Bide here the nicht, and the morn, gin he is willin tae be yer neist o kin, weel and guid; gif he willna Ah sall dae it. Ah tak ma aith by the Lord. Noo, ligg doon till daydaw'. Sae she liggit at his fit till daydaw, but awaukent air, afore onie docht ken wha she was; and he said, 'It winna dae for fowk tae ken a wumman has been tae the threshie-flair'. Than, quo he, 'rax me the mantua ye hae on, and haud it out'. Sae she raxit her mantua, and he gied her sax gowpens o bere, and heizit it on her shoulder, and she gaed awa tae the brugh. When she cam tae her guidmither, Naomi speirt, 'Hoo did it faa out wi ye ma dochter?' Ruth telt her aa the man had dune for her. 'He gied me sax gowpens o bere', quo she, 'he waldna lat me come hame tae ma guidmither toom'. Quo Naomi, 'Bide a wee, ma dochter, till ye see what wull befaa. He sallna bide eith, till he has redd up the maitter the day'. The Lord's like till lose sight o' David; bot David maun ne'er lose sight o' the Lord. Till the sang-maister: ane height-lilt o' David's. How lang, o LORD? Will ye mind me nae mair? How lang will ye hap yer face frae me? How lang tak thought i' my saul maun I, wi' dule i' my heart daily? How lang sal my ill-willer rax abune me? Tak tent an' hearken till me, LORD my God; enlighten my een, that I sleep-na the sleep o' dead: That my ill- willer say-na, I hae waur'd him now! or my faes be fain an I be shukken. Bot I'se lippen me a' till yer ain gude-gree; my heart sal be blythe i' yer ain heal-ha'din. Na, I sal e'en gang lilt till the LORD; for he's wrought a' nieborlie for me. The Lord kens whan, wi' a bleeze frae the lift, till set his ain folk free frae a' that wad steer them. Till the sang-maister, till ser' the LORD: ane o David's; whan he spak till the LORD ilk word o' this sang, i' the day the LORD redd him out frae the han' o' his ill-willers a', an' eke frae the han' o' Saul: an quo' he o LORD, my strenth, but I lo'e ye weel! The LORD my rock, my hainin-towir, an' my to-fa'. my God, my craig; I maun lippen till himlane: my schild, the horn o' my heal-makin, an' my heigh-ha'. I lilted fu' loud till the LORD; an frae ill-willers a' I was setten free. The dules o' dead dush'd me; an' spates o' mischieff fiey'd me sair: Dules o' the lang-hame fankit me about; girns o' dead war unco nar. I' my strett o' stretts I scraigh't till the LORD; till God, my ain god, I sighet fu' sair. He hearken'd my scraigh, frae his halie howff, my bidden wan ben afore him, it wan till his vera lugs. The yirth syne dinnl't, an' sheuk; the laighest neuks o' the hills trimml't an' steer'd, for He was angrie. Reek raise in his angir, an' lowe licket afore him; coals kennl'd at his on-come: An' he loutit the lift an' wan down; an mirk was aneth his feet: An' he canter'd on a cherub, an' he flew; an' he raiket on the wings o' the win': An' mirk he made a' for his howff about him; mirk o' spates, an' cluds o' the carrie. Frae the light was afore him, his cluds wan awa; wi' hailstanes, an' wi' fiaughts o' fire. An' the LORD reel'd alang the lift; the Heighest lat his skreigh win but: hailstanes an' flaughts o' fire. An' he lowsit his flanes, an' he sperfl't them; bleeze on bleeze, an' he dang them. Syne war the wames o' the watirs seen, an' the growf o' the warld unhappit was; at sic wytan o' yer ain, o LORD; at the gluff o' the win' o' thine angir. He rax't frae abune, he claught me; he harl'd me atowre frae a warld o' watirs: He redd me frae my strang ill-willer, an' frae a' that wiss'd me ill; wha starker war nor me. Me they o'er-gaed i' the day o' my down-gaen; bot the LORD was an out-gate till me. An' he brought me atowre intil room; he redd me fu' right, for he liket me weel. The LORD quat me even wi' my ain even-doen, an' contentit me weel for the cleanness o' my han's. For I tentit ay sikker the gates o' the LORD; an was nae ill-ganger frae my God: For his right- rechtins a' war afore me; an' his biddens frae me I ne'er pat awa: I was aefauld ay wi' himsel; an' wairded me weel frae my ain wrang-doen: An' the LORD quat me right for my rightousness; for the cleanness o' my han's in his een. Wi' the nieborlie man ye can be nieborlie, Lord; wi' the aefauld man, aefauld: Wi' the weel-wushen man ye can sine yer han's; wi' the thraw-art carl ye can haud yer ain: For down-dang folk yersel can saif; bot een owre heigh, ye can baise them a. For that light o' mine yerlane gar'd kennle; the LORD my God gar'd my mirkness lowe: For, wi' yerlane, I raIket thro' a byke; an' wi' my God, I o'erlap a wa'. For God, his gate 's aefauld; the word o' the LORD, it's pruif; a schild is he ay, till a' that lippen till himlane. For wha can be Gude, an it be-na the LORD? or wha a stieve craig, an it be-na our ain God? It's God himlane wha graiths me wi' might, an' straughts me fu' sikker the gate till gang: Evenin my feet like the cloots o' the rae, an' stanan me stieve on my heighest roddins: Ettlin my han's for facht, till ane airn-bow is flinder'd i' my arms. An' the schild o' yer heal-ha'din ye hae gien till me; an' yer right han' has uphauden me; an' yer tholin made me unco great My gate ye hae braided aneth me, that my fitsteds suld ne'er gae by. I sal o'ertak my ill-willers; I sal fang them firm; I sal ne'er seek hame, till it's by wi' them. I sal thring them thro', an' they sal ne'er man till rise; they sal gae down aneth my feet, whar I stan'. For ye graith'd me wi' might for the stour; my gain-stan'ers a' ye hae whaml't aneth me An' my faes ye 'gien me by the hals; my ill-willers eke, I hae sned them aff. They sought, bot nae frien' was thar; till the LORD they sought bot he mindet them nane. Syne I dang them like stoure afore the win'; like glaur ontil the heighroad, flang I them by. Ye hae redd me frae the chauner o' the folk; ye hae setten me atowre the hethen; folk that I kent-na sal be loons o' mine. Wi' loutit lugs sal they hearken till me; the sons o' the fremit sal kiss my caup. The gangrel gang hae thowet awa; an' shukken wi' dread frae their benmaist ha'dins. The LORD lives! an' blythe be my ha'din-height; heigh be the God o' my heal- makin: The God wha wracks a' right for me, an thirls the folk aneth my bidden: Wha redds me atowre frae my ill-willers a': na, ye hae liftit me heigh abune my gain-stan'ers; frae the ill- deedie carl, ye hae claught me awa. Wharthro', amang the folk, I maun laud yerlane; an' lilt until thy name, o LORD: Wha ettles sic health for his King: an' sic nieborlie gree for his Chrystit: for David, an' for his outcome, for evir an' ay. David foremaist, an' Chryst ahin him, baith maen fu' sair the mislipp'nin o' God i' their ain day o' dule: mony wonner-wyss words i' the sang-makar's mouthe anent this, an' till be weel tentit. For the lave, God himlane hauds a' livin: nae man can haud himsel livin; they come a' an' they gang; bot they're countit ay till the Lord for ane, for the Lord himsel maks a'. Till the sang-maister on Aijeleth-Shahar; ane heigh-lilt o' David's. My God, my God, whatfor hae ye mislippen'd me? Sae far are ye frae helpin me, an' the words o' my waefu' wailin. My God, I hae skreighit the leelang day, bot ye mind me nane; an' the night forby, an' nae peace for me. Bot ye are yerlane, an' weel fa' the leal lilts o' Israel. Our faithers lippen'd till thee; they lippen'd, an' ye redd them hame. They sigh't till yersel, an' wan weel awa; they lippen'd till thee, an' war nane affrontit. Bot 'am but a worm, an' nae man; a carl's sang, an' a geck o' the peopil. A' that see me laugh me by; they schute wi' the lip, they cave the head; - an' quo' they, He lippen'd the LORD; lat the LORD gar him gang: lat the LORD redd him but, sen he liket him weel. Bot yerlane redd me out frae the wame; ye mislippen'd me nane on my mither's bosom. On yersel was I cuisten frae the womb; frae my mither's bouk, ye 'been my God. Be-na far frae me, LORD, for stretts are nar; for nane bint yerlane can mak sikker. Droves o' nowte hae rinket me roun; stoor stirks o' Bashan hae fankit me about. They glaum'd abune me wi' their mouthes, like a rievan an' a roaran lyoun. 'Am skail'd like watir; ilk bane o' me's lowse; my heart's nae better nor wax, it's thow'd down laigh i' my bosom. My bouk clang like a shaird, an' my tongue stak till my hals; an' ye brought me till the stoure o' dead. For brachs hae forset me roun; the gath'ran o' ill-doers fankit me about; they drave thro my han's an' my feet. I may count ilk bane i' my bouk, for they glaum an' glow'r at mysel: They synder my cleedin amang them; an' fling for my vera manteele. Bot yersel, o LORD, be-na far frae me: haste ye till help me, my strenth an' a. Redd my saul atowre frae the swurd; an' the lave o' my life frae the grip o' the grew. Redd me, LORD, frae the lyoun's glaum; ye hae heard me or now, frae the horns o' the reme. I maun till o' yer name till my brether ilk ane; in mids o' the folk I maun lilt till thee. Wha fear the LORD, ye suld laud him a'; a' Jakob's out-come, laud him heigh; an' the growthe o' Israel a', quauk ye afore him. For he lightlied-na, nor grue'd at the dule o' the down-dang; nor happit his face frae him; bot hearken'd, whan he skreigh'd till himsel. Frae yersel comes the sugh o' my sang; i' the gath'ran sae gran' I sal bide my trystes, afore them that fear him. Lown-livin folk sal feed an' fen'; they sal lilt till the LORD, wha leuk for himsel: yer heart sal live as lang's the lave. A' neuks o' the yirth sal hae min', an' sal turn their gate till the LORD; ilk kin o' the folk sal lout afore thee. For the kingryk 's the LORD's: an' maister is he 'mang the natiouns. The best on yirth sal feed an' fa'; wha gang till stoure, ilk ane maun lout afore him; for nae livin wight can ay thole livin. Bot their out-come sal thole, an' be countit till the Lord for kith-gettin. They sal come i' their day, an' gar his rightousness be ken'd to the niest-come kin, that himsel did it. Ane Psalm o'David. The Lord is my shepherd; I sallna inlak. He mak's me til lye doun in green an' baittle gangs; he leeds me aside the quaeet water. He refreschens my saul; he leeds me in the peths o' richteous- niss for his naeme's sak'. Yis, thouch I wauk throwe the vallie o' the skaddaw o' deaeth, I wull feaer nae ill: for thou art wi' me; thy cruik an' thy staffe thaye comfirt me. Thou prepairist me ane tabel in the preesince o' mine enimies: thou anaintist my heaed wi' oolie; my cupp rins ower. Shurelie guidniss an' mercie sall folIo me a' the dayes o' my liffe; an' I wull dwall in the hous o' the Lord forevir. Dauvid is aye unreelin a pirn aboot Christ. Here he pents him as a Shepherd, and his sel as a silly bit lammie. It evens weel wi' the tenth o' John. The Lord is my Shepherd; my wants are a' kent; the pastur I lie in is growthie and green. I follow by the lip o' the watirs o' Peace. He heals and sterklie hauds my saul: and airts me, for his ain name's sake, in a' the fit-roads o' his holiness. Aye, and though I bude gang throwe the howe whaur the deid-shadows fa', I'se fear nae skaith nor ill, for that yersel is aye aside me; yere rod and yere cruik they defend me. My table ye hae plenish't afore the een o' my faes; my heid ye hae chrystit wi' oyle; my cup is teemin fu'! And certes, tenderness and mercie sal be my fa' to the end o' my days; and syne I'se bide i' the hoose o' the Lord, for evir and evir mair! The sheep-keepin o' the Lord's kind an' canny, wi' a braw howff at lang last; David keeps his sheep; the Lord keeps David. Ane heigh-lilt o' David's. The LORD is my herd, nae want sal fa' me: He louts me till lie amang green-howes; he airts me atowre by the lown watirs: He waukens my wa'-gaen saul; he weises me roun, for his ain name's sake, intil right roddins. Na! tho' I gang thro' the dead-mirk-dail; e'en thar, sal I dread nae skaithin: for yersel are nar-by me; yer stok an' yer stay haud me baith fu' cheerie. My buird ye hae hansell'd in face o' my faes; ye hae drookit my head wi' oyle; my bicker is fin' an' skailin. E'en sae, sal gude-guidin an' gude-gree gang wi' me, ilk day o' my livin; an' evir mair syne, i' the LORD's ain howff, at lang last, sal I mak bydan. David, in pitifu' plight, baith saul an' body, cries uncolie till the Lord till be gude till him an' help him. Ane heigh-lilt o' David's, till keep the Lord in min'. Wyte me na, LORD, i' yer lowan wuth; ding me na by i' yer bleezan torne: For deep intil me yer flanes hae taen grip; an' sair ontil me is yer han' down- borne. Nae feck i' my flesche, fornent yer angir; nae rest i' my banes, fornent my sin. For my ain misdeeds hae gane owre my head; like some weary weight, they're ill till carrie. My dulesome dints gang foich i' my folly; Twafauld am I, an' cruppen till naething; a' day lang, I gang dark an' drearie. For my lisk it's pang'd wi' some fusionless ill; an' nae soun'ness ava is left i' my body. Feckless am I, an' forfochten sairly; I sigh wi' a sab frae the heart i' my bosom. O LORD, afore thee is a' my yirn; an' my sighan, frae thee it has ne'er been happit. My heart dwaums, my pith bides-na wi' me; na, the light o' my een, it's gane clean frae me. My joes an' my frien's Stan' atowre frae my breinge; an' my blude themsels haud far frae me. Wha seek for my life hae girns till lay; wha ettle me ill speak a' mischieff, an' pingle on lies the hail day. Bot I, like the deaf man, hearken'd nane; an' e'en like the dum, wha ne'er raxes his mouthe: I was e'en as the man wha hears-na a sugh; an' ben i' whase gab are nae gainsayans. For a' till yerlane I hae lippen'd, O LORD; ye maun speak till me lown, Lord God o' my ain. For quo' I, Gin they 're fain till see me fa'; gin they haud themsels heigh an 'my fit slidder! For likan till gang am I ay; an' my dule, it 's afore me evir. For my sin I hae weel setten furth; on the wrang I hae dune, I tak thought wi' a swither. Bot ill-willers on live, are a' fu' stark; an' mony are they, wha mislike me saikless: Wha pay me wi' ill, for gude till themsels; wha seek me wi' wrang, for my ain weel-doen. Dinna lea' me, O LORD, thou God o' my ain; nor bide frae me far, as the lave are bydan. Fy, haste ye till help me, O LORD, my heal-ha'din! Til the chief musicien, een til Jeduthun, Ane Psalm o' David. I said, I wull tak tent til my wayes, that I sinna wi' my tung: I wull keep my mooth wi' ane brydle quhile the wicket is afore me. I was dum wi' seelence; I helde my peece een frae guid; an' my sorra was sturret. My hairt was het wuthin me; quhile I was muusin' the fire burnet: than spak I wi' my tung, Lord, mak' me til ken mine en', an' the measur o' my dayes what it is, that I may ken howe bauch I am. Behald thou hest maede my dayes as ane han'sbreaethe, an' mine age is as naething afore thee: trewlie ilka man at his best staete is a'thegither' vainitie. Selah. Shurelie ilka man gangs in ane vaine schaw: shurelie thaye ar wanrestet in vaine: he hotts up guids an' geer, an' kensna wha sall gether thame. An' nowe, Lord, what waite I for? my houpe is in thee. Free me frae a' my transgressiones; makna me the reproch o' the fulish. I was dum; I openetna my mooth; becaus thou didist it. Remuve thy straike awa frae me: I am consuumet bie the fluet o' thine han'. Whan thou wi' rebuiks dest correck man for inequitie, thou makist his beutie til waiste awa like ane maethe: shurelie ilka man is vainitie. Heaer my praeyer, O LORD, an' gie ear untill my crye: haud-na thy peece at my teaers: for I am fremet wi' thee, an' ane sae-jurner, as a' my faethers wer. O spare me, that I may gaine bak my pithe afore I gae hance an' be nae mair. Til the chief musicien, for the sons o' Korah; Ane Sang apon Alamoth. God is our sang an' strencth, ane verra presint helpe in truble. Therfor we wullna feier, thouch the yirth be remuvet, an' thouch the mountans be carryet intil the middle o' the se: Thouch the waters o't rair, an' be trublet; thouch the mountans shog wi' the swailin' o' thame. Selah. Ther is ane rivir whase rinners sall mak' gladsume the citie o' God, the haiy piece o' the taabernakles o' the Maist Hie. God is in the middle o' hir; she sallna be muvet: God sall helpe hir, an that richt sune. The heaethin frennet, the kingdooms wer comuvet: he uuteret his voyce, an' the yirth meitet. The Lord o' hosts is wi' us; the God o' Jacob is our scug. Selah. Cum, behald the warks o' the Lord, what desolationes he heth made in the yirth. He mak's weir til cease untill the en's o' the yirth; he snegs the speer asinder; he burns the chariat in the fire. Be quaeit, an' ken that I am God: I wull be raeiset on hie amang the heaethin, I wull be maede hie in the yirth. The Lord o' hosts is wi' us; the God o' Jacob is our beild. Seiah. Nae liltin o' laind at Zioun an God be na thar: narest till him, maun be blythest; but his gude-will's at-owre us a': the yirth hersel's fu' fain at his comin. Till the sang-maister: ane heigh- lil: an' sang o' David's. Thar's a whush for yersel, o God, i' the liitin o' laud at Zioun; till yersel sal the tryst be made- guid: Till yersel, wha can hearken prayer, a' flesh be till airt its road. Words wi' a faut, are owre mony for me; our deeds wi' a faut, ye sal dicht them by. Blythe abune a' maun he be, ye wale an' tak hame wi' yersel; he sal bide i' yer faulds sae fine: bot we sal be stegh't wi' the gude o' yer houss, that halie biggen o' thine. Sair wonners, o God, our heal-ha'din, in right ye hae gar'd us ken; tryste till a' ends o' the yirth, an' till them owre the sea that fen: Rightin the hills in his strenth, graith't wi' nae end o' might: Whushin the sugh o' the fludes, the sugh o' their waves, an' the peopil's sigh. An' the dwallers on yonder- maist-yird, are fleyed at the trysts ye sen': the outgang o' mornin, the hame-come o' night, ye mak them baith liltin fain. Ye win till the yirth, an' ye drook it; ye seep it fu' saft wi' the spring-tide o' God: ye lucken their corn i' the growin, whan sae ye hae ready'd the road. Her furs ye swak wi' a spate-fu'; ye sloken her rigs wi' showers; her braird ye bring blythely awa. Sae the year ye hae crown'd wi' yer gudeness; an' yer roun-gaens dreep rowth as they gang: They dreep on the bawks i' the wustlan'; an' the knowes, they are graithit wi' sang: The lea's, they are happit wi' fleeshes; an' the howes, they are theekit wi' corn: they skreigh wi' content o' pleasance; na, wi' joye they're a' liltin thrang. Maschil o' Asaph. O God, wharefor hest thou casen us aff forevir? why deth thine angir reek agayne the sheepe o' thy heffgang? Mind thy congregatione, whilk thou hest coft o' auld; the rodd o' thine heirskep, whilk thou hest redeimet; this Muunt Zion, wharein thou hest dwalt. Lift up thy feet untill the en'liss desolationes, een a' that the enemie heth dune wicketlie in the sanctuarie. Thine enimies rair in the middle o' thy congregationes; thaye sete up thair ensygns for sygns. Ance ane man was renommet akordin' as he had liftet up aexes apon the thick tries. But nowe thaye brik doun the cervet wark thero' at ance wi' a exes an' hammirs. Thaye hae thrawn fire intil thy sanctuarie; thaye hae fylet, bie thrawing doun the dwallin'-plece o' thy nieme til the gruun'. Thaye said in thair hairts, Let us destroye thame thegither; thaye hae brunt up a' the synigogues o' God in the lan'. We seena our sygns; ther is nae mair onie prophit, naether is ther amang us onie that kens howe lang. O God, howe lang sall the advarsarie speik dispichtfulie? sall the enimie blasfeme thy naeme foraye? Why haudist thou bak thy han', een thy richt han'? pu' it owt o' thy bozim. For God is my King o' auld, wurkin' salvatione in the middle o' the yirth. Thou didist cleefe the se bie thy strencth; thou didist brik the heaeds o' the draegons in the waters. Thou didist smatter the heads o' leviathan intil flenders, an' gaefist him til be fude til the peeple habitatin' the wuldirniss. Thou didist cleefe the fuuntan an' the flude: thou dryetist up michtie rivers. The daye is thine, the nicht alsua is thine; thou hest prepairet the licht an' the sun. Thou hest sete a' the boordirs o' the yirth: thou hest maede simmir an' wintir. Ae thing keep in mind, that the enimie has reprochet, O Lord, an' that the fulish peeple hae blasfemet thy naeme. O deliferna the saul o'thy turtle-dow untill the ferkishin' o'the wicket; forgetna the congregatione o' thy puir foraye. Hae respeck untill the covenent; for the mirk pieces o' the yirth ar fu' o the habitationes o' cruiltie. O letna the oppresset cum bak doun o' mooth; let the puir an' needie prayse thy name. Raeise up, o God, pleed thine ain caus; beaer in mind howe the fulish man reproches thee daylie. Forgetna the voyce o' thine enimies: the throck an' dirdum o' thae that rise up agayne thee inkresses continwallie. Man's like the gerss, an his days like a tide: he comes an' he gangs, bot he canna bide. Ane heart's bode o' Moses, the ae Man o' God. Our hame Ye 'been ay, yerlane, O LORD; frae ae life's end till anither. Or the heights war shot but, or the yirth an' the warld ye had schuppen; na, frae ae langsyne till anither, hae Ye been God. Man ye fesh roun till naething; aye, ye say Hame again, Sons o' the yird! For a thousan year i' yer sight, are the gliff o' a bygane day; or e'en as a steer i' the night. Ye hae drookit them a' in a dwaum; i' the mornin are they, as the winnle-strae dwaffles: I' the mornin, it braids an' it dwaffles; or night, it lies mawn an' winn. For in yer angir, we're a' for-fochten; an' in yer wuth, are we dang clean dune. Our fauts ye hae setten fornenst ye; our weel-happit sins, i' the glint o yer glow'r. For ilk day o' our ain drees by in yer angir; an' our years wear awa, like the sugh o' a sang. The days o' our years, seeventy year o' them a'; or wi' meikle pith, aughty year they may gang: bot a weary warsle 's their feck wi' a'; for a gliff it gaes by, an' we flichter hame. Wha daur mean the weight o' yer angir? e'en sae as ye're trystit, yer angir maun be. Till count our days, gar us ken the better; an' airt our heart the gate o sic lear. Hame again, LORD, how lang sal ye swither? an' ay on yer thirlfolk rew the mair; Stegh us fu' ere wi' rowth o' yer pitie; syne sal we lilt, an' be blythe a' our days. Mak us blythe, for sae lang's ye hae dang us; an' the years we hae seen but ill: Lat yer wark be but seen on yer thirlfolk; on their bairns, yer gudeli-heid still: An' the will o' the LORD our God be amang us; an' the wark o' our han's, till oursels mak it guid: o the wark o' our han's, mak it guid till oursel. Aa fuok at leeves, onna the yerth, syng tui the Luord, wui a cheerfu voyce. Sir 'ym wui myrth, tall furth 'yz prayse, cum ye afuore 'ym, an rejoyse! Kaen ye, the Luord yz God yn trowth; hey meade us, wuthoot Onie haelp o' oors: wey're hyz hyrsel at hey feids, an hey teakes us for 'yz scheip. o cum yn, than, at 'yz yaetts wui prayse. gang forrat tui 'yz coorts wui joye: aiy prayse, an' lauwd, an' blyss 'yz neame, for yt's farrant tui dui seae. Quhat for? the Luord oor God's guid; hez guidness is suir for aiy: hyz truith stuid sycker at aa teymes, an yt 'Il laest frae eage tui eage. Ane Psalm o' prayse Mak' ane joyfu' noyse untill the Lord, a' ye lan's. Ser' the Lord wi' gladsumeniss; cum afore his presince wi' singin'. Ken ye that the Lord he is God; it is he that heth maede us, an' nat we oursel's; we ar his peeple, an' the scheep o' his heffgang. Entir intil his yettes wi' thanksgiein', an' intil his cuurts wi' prayse; be thankfu' untill him, an' bliss his naeme. For the Lord is guid; his mercie is evirlestin', an' his trouth enduurs til a' ganaeratians. We're a' but the sheep o' God's lan', an' the flock o' God's han': a' livin folk, they suld laud him. A lilt o' laud. [Ane o' Davids, quo' the LXX]. Skreigh till the LORD, the hail yirth, maun ye: Beck till the LORD wi' blytheheid an' a'; ben afore him, wi' a sang o' glee. Ken ye fu' weel, the LORD he's God: himlane, it was, made us; oursel made-na we: his folk are we syne, an eke o' his hirsel the fe. Ben till his yetts wi' laud; till his faulds, wi' a lilt sae hie: lilt ye laud till himsel; an' that name o' his ain, bless ye. For gude is the LORD; his gudewill 's for ay: an' frae ae life's en' till anither, that truth o' his ain, it sal be. David lippens till the heights abune Zioun; an' till him that's abune the heights. A sang o' the Upgaens. Till the heights, I maun cast my een; whar else can my help come frae? My help 's frae the LORD himlane; wha made baith the lift an' the lan'. Yer fit he winna lat steer; nor dover, wha hauds ye heal: Na, he neither dovers nor sleeps, wha keeps waird upon Israel. The LORD, he 's yer keeper an' a': the LORD sal be sconce till thee; on yer han', on yer ain right han'. The sun sal-na blight ye by day; nor the mune, as scho gangs the night thro' The LORD, he sal waird ye frae ilka ill; yer life, he sal waird it weel: The LORD, he sal waird yer gaen-out an' gaen-in, for evir an' ay, frae the now! Wisdom crackin Wi' the fulish Wisdom cries oot on the causey, Athort the braid haudens o' men; She's thrang ower-by at the merkets, An' oot an' in by the entries. An' a' through the toon, She's cryin, an' sayin: 'Hoo lang, ye saft, feckless craiturs, Are ye gaun to be sae thowless Geckin at what's guid, An', like the fules ye are, Haudin aff frae richt-kennins? Swee yersels roun', whan ye hear my repruif. Tak tent! For I'm fain to gie ye my speerit, An' mak my words weel-kent to ilk ane o' ye. Ower an' ower again I've hoyit an' cry't, But ye've a' been dour an' deif-luggit; I've rax't oot my hainn, But yefash't yersels nane; The coonsel I spak, ye hae slichtit, An' wadna hear ocht o' advisins. But bide aweel I'll hae the lauch In the day that ye're trauchl't; I'll geck at you, Whan ye 're chitt'rin wi' dreid; Whan on comes yer fricht Like a blashin spate; Whan doon comes yer skaith Like a swirlin blast; Whan dule an' wae ye maun dree.' Nae doobt, they'll speir for me then; But I'll answer them nane: Seekin me then they wad be; But fin' me they'll no. For didna they haud aff richt-kennins? They waled-na the fear o' the Lord; Ay! they'd herken to nae advisins; They slichtit a' my repruif. An' sae, they maun dree their ain weird, An' be chokit wi' their ain ill-daeins, Slippin back, an' gaun doon in their fecklessness, An', like the fules, I tell ye, they are, They'll be smoored 'neth the routh o' their ain fulishness. But, whae'er wad herken weel to mysel, A braw an' a couthie hauden he'll hae; In a lown, lown howff he'll be happit ower Wi' nae dreid o' ill ava. For at the winnock o' my hoose I keekit oot ayont the swee o't, An' I saw amang the gawkie loon Little mair than callans they were I saw a young chiel, Wi' nae muckle gumption. He was gaun alang the causey near her corner; He was takin the very airt o' her hoose, In the gloamin, At the e'enin hoor, As the darklins o' the nicht were comin doon; An' there was the hizzie to meet him, The sleekie, ill-deedie wumman. She's a licht-heidit, glalkit limmer; She'll stey nane in her ain hoose; Noo, she's oot on the causey; Noo, she's alang by the merkets, An' at ilka corner she's on the oot-look. Sae she took him by the airms, An' there she kiss't him; An' wi' impidence, the heicht o't, Glowerin in the face o' her, Quo' she to the chiel: 'I hae offerins o' guid-wull wi' me; This very day I've been takin thocht o't: Sae I cam oot to meet ye, To see gin I could meet yersel, An', noo, I've fand ye here I've buskit the bink wi' braw graithin, Wi strippit cleedin frae Egypt itsel; An' I've strinkl't ower a' The sweet-scentit fineries: Come awa; swither nane; Lat's hae love to oor likins till the mornin, Lat's hae't to oor likens: For the guid-man's awa frae hame; He's gane aff to far-awa pairts; He's taen a fu' wallet alang wi' him, An' he'se no be back inside a month.' Wi' her sliddry tongue She man's to come ower him; Wi' the fraisin o' her mooth She gars him gie in. He gangs eftir her at the meenit - Like the nowte till the slauchter-hoose, Or like the man that's sneckit in airns Wha maun herken to the blethers o' a fule - Till a sherp fiane dings through him. Like a silly bit birdie He haps intil the girn, An' the puir, thowless sumph Doesna ken that he's gaun to his daith. A laddie wi' a pickle gumption maks his faither rale prood o' him; But a thochtless callan gies his mither mony a sair hairt. Gear that's gether't by scafferie 'll bring blythe oot-come to naebody; But richteousness 'll redd a man frae the grups o' daith itsel. The Lord 'll ne'er lat ony o' His ain be sair scrimpit: But He'll steek the door ticht against the ettlins o' the wicked. The man that's slack in the haun 'll sune be toom in the purse; But the haun that's eident is the haun that gethers the gear. He's a sensible chiel, wha lays-by through the simmer; But, onybody, wha driddles in the hairst-time, 'll shame his ain folk by-ord'nar. Mony are the blessins that are strinkl't ower the heid o' the richteous; But mony a sair clour 'll be clankit on the gab o' the wicked. The memorie o' the guid is aye wi' us in a' its blythe-someness; But the name o' the ill-doers 'll crine awa to naething. A' the wyse at hairt tak tent to commauns gi'en them; But a bletherin coof 'll come doon wi' a daiverin dunt some day. Wha gangs uprichtly, gangs siccarlie; Wha taks the crookit gate, 'll hae his name blabbit ower the hale pairish. The man that's aye wink-winkin wi' his een, ettles muckle ill: An' a lowse-tongued craitur 'll get a clarty tummle afore he's through wi't. The crack o' a guid man brings a gliff o' life; But the crack o' the wicked is nocht but camsteerie clash. Ill-wull steers up a' mainner o' rippets; But, whaur there's love, mony bits o' mistaks are quaitly happit oot o' sicht. Wha has guid insicht, kens hoo to speak sense: Wha wants gumption, wants a rung reislin on his back. Men o' mense are aye gleg to pit an eik to what they ken already; But fules, by their blether-bletherin, dae the warst for themsels. The gear o' the rich man gairds him like a castle; But the poortith o' the puir hauds him doon on his hunkers. The thrangness o' the richteous airts to life: The thrangness o' the wicked airts to sin. Wha gangs by guid advisins, hauds on the richt gate: Wha gecks at repruif, waun'ers frae the straucht road. Whae'er hides his ill-wull aneth a pretence o' guid-wull, is a leear: An' whae'er keeps himsel thrang clypin clashes, is nae-thing but a coof. Whaur there's a brattlin blether o' words, some o' them are like to be ill; Sae the man wi' a pickle sense taks care to keep a steek in his crack. The crack o' the richteous is like siller the very wale o't; But that o' the wicked is no worth a broon bawbee. The crack o' the richteous feeds an' fen's mony a life; But silly sumphs dee for want o' guid understaun'in. The blessin o' the Lord maks the puirest body bien, An' there's nae back-draw o' dowieness gangs alang wi't. A fule thinks it's daffin to mell wi' the wrang: An', to the man o' the richt stamp, Sic-like is the sairch eftir wisdom It's the brawest pleesur' o' ony! What the wicked are frichtit for, Upon the wicked that'll fa': What the richteous hae ettl't, That'll come their gate in the lang-run. Whan the dirl o' the blast has gane by, The biggins o' the wicked are blawn clean oot o' sicht; But tak a skance o' the haudens o' the richteous They're foondit on a rock for evermair. I am blak but bonnie o ye douchters o' Jerusalem, as the sheilins o' Kedar, as the coortins o' Solomon. Glowerna at me becaus I am blak, becaus the sun hes shaine on me: my mither's childer wer angrie wi' me; thaye maede me keepir o' the vyneyairds, but mine ain vyneyaird I haena keepet. Acquant me, o thou wham my saul loeist, wi' whare thou feedist, wi' whare thou mak'st thy hirsel til rest at nuun: for wharefor shud I be als ane that gangs danderin' agley efter the hirsels o' thy cumrades? Gif thou kenna, o thou fairist amang wemen, gae thy wayes furth bie the fit-roddins o' the fiok, an' feed thy kids alangs bie the sheep- herds' sheilins. I hae lykenet thee, o my loefe, til ane cumpanie o' hors in Pharoah's chariats Thy hafiets ar wonsome wi' raws o' juils, thy nek wi' cheens o' gowd. I am the rose o' Sharon, an' the lily o' the glens. As the lily amang thorns, sae is my love amang the lasses As the apple-tree amang the trees o'the wud, sae is my belovet amang the laddies. I sat doun aneath his shadow wi' muckle delicht, an' his fruit was sweet til my priein'. He broucht me til the wassail-ha', an' his banner owre me was love. Stay me wi' stowps, strengthen me wi' apples, for I am ill wi' love. His left han' is aneath my head, an' his richt han' is roun' me I rede ye, O ye dochters o' Jerusalem, by the raes, an' by the hin's o' the field, that ye dinna steer up, nar wauken my love, till he likes. The voice o' my belovet! leuk! he comes loupin' on the hills, skippin' on the braes. My belovet is like til a rae or a wee deer; behald, he stan's ahint our wa', he keeks out o' the winnock, shawin' himsel through the lattice lozens. My belovet spak', quo' he, Rise up, my love, my bonnie ane, an' come awa. For, behald, the winter's awa, the rain is owre an' gane; The flowers sproot out o' the grun'; the time o' the singin' o' burds is come, an' the cooin' o' the cushat is hear't in our lan': The feg-tree pits out her green fegs, an' the vines wi' the wee grapes gie furth a nice smell. Rise up, my love, my bonnie ane, an' come awa. O my doo, whilk art in the rifts o' the rock, in the neuks o' the cliffs, let me hae a sicht o' thy face, let me hear thy voice; for thy voice is saft, an' thy face is winsome. By nicht on my bed I socht him wham my saul lu'es, I socht him, but fand na him. I'll rise noo an' gang aboot the toon in the throo-gangs, an' in the braid ways I'll seek him wham my saul lu'es The watchmen that gang aboot the toon fand me; Hae na ye seen him wham my saul lu'es, I speer't? It was but a wee while I gaed frae them, whan I fand him wham my saul lu'es: I haudet him, an' wad na let him gang, tull I had brocht him intul my mither's hoose, an' intul the chamer o' hir that conceevet me. I wairn ye, o ye dochters o' Jerusalem, by the raes an' by the hinds o' the field, that ye stir na up nor wauken my love tull he likes. Wha is' this that comes oot o' the wilderness like tooricks o' reek, scented wi' myrrh an' frankincense, wi' a' the poothers o' the mair-chant? Behauld his bed, whilk is Solomon's: threescore valient men are roond it, o' the valient o' Israel. They a' haud swurds, bein' weel-skeelet in war; ilka man heth his swurd on his thie, because o' dreed in the nicht. By nicht on my bed I soucht him wham my saul lo'es, I soucht him, but I cudna fin' him. I will rise up noo, an gang about the toun in the throwgangs, an' in the braid roads I will seek him wham my saul lo'es: I soucht him, but I cudna fin' him. The watchmen wha gang about the toun fand me: I spier't at them, Hae ye seen him wham my saul lo'es? It was but a wee bit I had gane frae them, whan I fand him wham my saul lo'es: I grippet him, an' wadna let him gae, till I had broucht him intil my mither's house, an' intil the chammer o' her wha bure me. I rede ye, O ye dochters o' Jerusalem, by the raes an' by the hin's o' the field, that ye dinna steer up, nar wauken my love, till he likes. Wha is yon comin' out o' the muir like til lunts o' reek, smellin' o' myrrh an' frankincense, an' a' the powthers o' the merchan'? Behald his bed, whilk is Solomon's; threescoore douchty chiels are roun' it, the maist douchty o' Israel. They a' haud swerds, bein' weel skeellet in war: ilka chiel has his swerd on his theegh for fear in the nicht. Bie nicht on my bed I soucht him wham my saul loes: I soucht him, but fand him nat. I wull raeise nowe, an' gae aboot the citie in the throwegangs, an' in the braid wayes I wull seek him wham my saul loes; I soucht him, but fin' him I couldna. The wate-men that gae aboot the citie fand me, til wham I said, Saw ye him wham my saul loes? It was but awee that I gaed frae thame, whan I fand him wham my saul loes; I haudet him, an' wadna let him gae, quhill I had brung him intil my mither's hous, an' intil the chammer o' hir that conceifet me. I waern yow, O ye douchters o' Jerusalem, bie the raes an' bie the hyn's o' the feeld, that ye sturna up nar awauken my loefe quhill he pleese. Wha is this that cums owt o' the wuldirniss like towiricks o' reek, scentet wi' myrrh an' frankincense, wi' a' powdirs o' the maechan'? Behald his bed, whilk is Solomon's, thriescoore veilent men ar aboot it, o' the brafe o' Israel. Thaye a' haud swerds, being wicht an' weel- skeelet in weir: ilka man hes his swerd apon his thie, becaus' o' dreiedour in the nicht. By nicht on my couch I socht him wha my saul lo'es: I socht him, but I didna find him. I'll get up the noo, an' gang awa aboot the toon in the causeys, an in the braid ways I'll seek him wha my saul lo'es; I socht him, but find him I coudna. The waitmen that daunder aboot the toon fand me spierin'; quo' I, ha'e ye seed him wha my saul lo'es? It was but a wee I had gaed frae them, when I fand him wha my saul lo'es; I grippet him fast, an' wadna' let him gang 'til I brung him til my mither's hoose, an' ben til the spence o' her that bore me. I coonsel ye, O ye dochters o' Jerusalem, by the raes an' the hines o' the field, that ye stirna up nor wanken my love intil his ain pleesure. Wha's yon comin' oot o' the wilderness like til lunts o' reek smellin' o myrrh an' incense, wi' a' the pouthers o' the mairchan? Do ye no see the bed o' Solomon wi' threescore braw chiels aboot it, the wale of the sojers o' Israel? They a' bear swords, for they are unco' strang i' fecht; ilka chiel hes a blade upo' his theegh, on accoont o' the dreed hoor o' the nicht. Behauld, thoo airt fair, my love! behauld, thoo airt fair; thoo hest the een o' doos within thy lokes; thy hair is as ae hirsel o' gaits that kythe frae munt Gilead. Thy teeth are as ae hirsel o' sheep that are snodlie clippet, whilk cam up frae the washin', whauro' ilka ane hes twuns, an' nane is kebbet amang them. Thy lips are like ae threed o' scarlet, an' thy speech is winsome; thy forebroos are like ae piece o' pomgranate within thy lokes. Thy neck is like the toor o' David, bigget for an airmorie, whauron hing ae thoosan' bucklers, a' shields o' dochtie men. Thy twa breests are like twa young raes that are twuns, whilk feed amang the lillies. Tull the day daw', an' the shaddies flee awa', I'll tak met' the muntan o' myrrh, an' t' the hill o' frankincense. Thoo airt a' fair, my love; there is nae spote in thee. Come wi' me frae Lebanon, my bride, wi' me frae Lebanon: look frae the tap o' Amana, frae the tap o' Shenir an' Hermon, frae the lions' lairs, frae the muntans o' the lepperds. Thoo hest reft my hert, my tittie, my bride; thoo hest reft my hert wi' ane o' thine een, wi' ae chine o' thy neck. Hoo winsome is thy love, my tittie, my bride! hoo muckle better is thy love nor wine! an' the smell o' thy intments nor a' spices! Thy lips, o my bride, drap as the hinnie-kame: hinnie an' mulk are anoonder thy tongue; an' the smell o' thy claes is like the smell o' Lebanon. Ae gairden fenset is my tittie, my bride; ae spring steeket up, ae funtan sealet. I sleep, but my hairt is wauken; it is the voice o' my lo'ed ane that tirls, quo' he, Open til me, my tittie, my love, my doo, my unfylet ane; for my heed is droucket wi' weet, an' my hair wi' the draps o' the nicht. I ha'e putten aff my coat; hoo sall I pit it on? I ha'e washet my feet, hoo sall I fyle them? My lo'ed ane pat in his haun' by the hole o' the door, an' my bowels yearnet for him. I raise up til open til my lo'ed ane; an' my hauns drappet wi' myrrh, an' my fingers wi' the sweet-scented myrrh upo' the han'els o' the lock. I open't til my lo'ed ane; but my lo'ed ane had taen hissel aff, an' was awa'; my saul swoonet as he spak'; I socht him, but I coudna find him; I ca't lood til him, but ansur he didna. The waitmen gangin' roond the toon; they hat me, an' cut me badly; the wa'-keepers clicket awa' my veil frae me. I coonsel ye, O dochters o' Jerusalem, gif ye find my lo'ed ane, ye sall say til him, that I'm forfairn wi' love. What is thy love mair nor anither's love, o thou bonniest o' women? An' what is thy lo'ed ane mair nor anither's lo'ed ane, that thou keeps churmin' sae til us? My lo'ed ane is fair an' rosy, the tap an' wale o' ten thoosan'. His heed is like til the finest gowd; his locks are bushy, an' black as a corbie. His een are like til the een o' doos by the rinlets o' waters, washt wi' milk an' bonnilie setten. His cheeks are like til a bed o' spices, an' sweet fiow'rs; his lips are like til lilies dreepin' wi' sweet smellin' myrrh. His hauns are like til gowd rings set wi' beryl; his stamach is like til bricht ivory owercassen wi' sapphires. His legs are like til columns o' marble stan'in' on sockets o' fine gowd; his coontenance like Lebanon, an' grand as the cedars. His mou' is unco sweet; aye, he is a'thegither beautifu'. This is my ain love, an' this is my frien', O dochters o' Jerusalem. Ill folk 's like ane ill yaird; teel't as ye like, ye hae nae rewaird. Rack-rent and herriment, birlin an' bousin; liean an' swearin 's a natioun 's abusin: Hell gets a gowp o't, an' syne thar 's nae chusin. An syne I maun sugh a bit sang, till ane I loe weel; the sang, it's my niebor himsel, an' the yaird he can teel. My niebor's a yaird o' his ain, on an unco growthy knowe: An' he dykit it roun', an flang stanes out enew; an' he set it wi' stoks o' the wale'dest; an' he bigget a towir i' the mids o' the yaird, an' he howket a troch whar the wine maun be shair'd; an' he ettled it syne, till gie grapes in rewaird, bot it gie'd- na a grape but the wildest. An' now a' ye folk i' Jerus'lem that fen'; an' o' Judah itsel, the lave o the men; ye maun right atween me an' my vineyaird: What mair 's till do wi' this yaird o' my ain, that I hae-na dune wi 't till gar't carry? whan I leukit syne it suld carry me grapes, what for brought it canker'd berries? Come here awa syne, an' I'se gar yo ken what I ettle till do wi' my vineyaird: I'se out wi' its hedge, I'se down wi' its dyke; an' it 's baith be herried an' moul'ard: I'se e'en mak it a' wust lan'; it sal neither be sned nor digget; bot the brier an' the thorn, they sal thig it: an' the cluds, I sal gie my commaun, that they dreep-na a drap till sloke it. For JEHOVAH o' hosts, that vineyaird o' his, it 's the houss o' Isra'l; an' the stok he 's sae fain o', 's the men o' Judah: an' he leukit for right, bot ay it was wrang; an' for a' that was straught, bot ay the sugh o' sair tholin. The feck o' God's might 's an innco sight; an' the Seer's tongue mainn be tang 'd, an he ettle till gang; e 'en jimply syne, will folk hearken. It was i' the year King Uzziah wan hame, I had a sight o' the LORD ontil a thron, uncolie heigh an' carried; an' the weight o' his cleedin, it boukit the temple. Abune him stude the sax-wing'd seraphs, wi' their sax wings ilk ane: wi' twa ilk happit his face, an' wi' twa ilk happit his feet, an' wi' twa he couth flee. Syne cry'd ane till anither, an' quo' he - Halie, Halie, Halie, is JEHOVAH o' hosts; the hail bouk o' yirth 's but the skance o' his gloiry! An' the stoops o' the door dinnled at the sugh o' the seraph's skreigh; an' the biggin was bing'd wi' reek. Syne quo' I, Wae's me, for 'am by! for 'am but a foul- lippit loon, an' I bide amang foul-lippit foIk; for my een, they hae seen the King, JEHOVAH o' hosts. Syne flew til me ane o' the seraphs, an' intil his han' a light-coal i' the tangs, he had taen frae atowre the altar. An' he tang'd on my mouthe; an' quo' he: It's been tang'd on yer lips, an' yer ill's taen awa, an' yer slough's cuisten. I heard syne the sugh o' the LORD, sayan: Wha maun I sen'? an' wha is 't maun gang for oursel? An' quo' I, Siclike as I am, sen' me. An' quo' he, Gang! an' say till this folk as they fen'; Ye sal hear like the lave, an' be nane the wysser; ye sal see like the lave, an' ken naething mair. Mak the folk's heart dreigh, an' their lugs gar them theek, an' their een gar them steek; that they see-na wi' their een, an wi' their lugs they hear nane, an' wi' their heart they suld-na ken; in case be they suld men', an' do fair. Bot quo' I, LORD, how lang? An' quo' he, Till the towns be toom'd o' their loons, an' the biggins a' bare, wi' nane till bide thar; an' the yird has been utterlie soopit: An' the LORD has flittit folk a' far awa, an the mids o' the lan' has been scoopit. An' e'en tho' a tent' suld be spared; gin it braird, it sal clean be roopit. Yet ay, like 's the arn an' the aik, whan they 're fell'd their pith 's no kill'd; sae a weel-hain'd seed, the stok o' the folk, sal be stoopit. We hae gotten a bairn oot o jizzen and we hae gotten a son: and the stere sall be upon his shouther: and his name sall be caad Wonnerfu, Councillour, the Michty God, the aye-abidan Faither, Athil o Saught. o the growin o his stere and saught there sall be nae end, upon the trone o Dauvit, and upon his kinrick tae bigg it wi mense and wi richt-daein, enoo and for evirmair; the ingine o the Lord o Osts sall hae it dune. ] Thair is bairne borne to vsz and thair is ane bairne giffine to wsz quhais power is apone his schulders his nayme sai be callit wnderlie consalour stark god fader of the wardil to cum prince of pece his impir sai be multipleit. For suth a litil child is born to vs, and a sonn is gevin to vs; and princehede is made on his schuldir; and his name salbe callit Wonndirfull, and Connsaler, God, Strenthie, a Fader of the warld to-cummand, Prince of pece. His empire salbe multiplijt, and na end salbe of his pece; he sal sitt on the sete of Dauid, and on the realme of him, that he conferme it, and mak stark in dome and richtfulnes, frahynfurth and till into withoutin end. For our Bairn, he's been born; our Son, he's come hame; and the right's like a gad on his shouthir: The Ferlie, the Wyss-redde, sal e'en be his name; the Mighty God, the Faither o' Time; the Laird o' Gudewill thegither. Nae en' sal be till the growth o' his gree, an' his frienly gate wi' his neibor; ontil David's thron, an' his kingryk forby, till airt it an' mak it fu' slkker; wi' right an' right-rechtin, frae now an' for ay: lo's the will o' the Lord o' hosts, perfey, sic wark that sal wark the glegger! The tryst-makin for the hame-gaen, an' the reddin o' the road frae Babel: The fleechin o' the LORD atowre a' eidol gods, an' heart'nin syne for Jakob. Hearten ye weel, my folk; hearten ye weel, quo' your God. Speak heart-healin words till Jerusalem; e'en gar her hear: That her warsle's by; that her ill's forgien; that scho's doubled now, frae the loof o' the LORD, for a' her wrang-doens! Quo' a sugh frae the wust sae braid: Redd up the gate o' JEHOVAH; straught owre the nieborless muir, a road for our God ye sal mak it. Ilk howe maun be heighen'd; ilka knowe, an' ilk brae maun be laighen'd; an' the cruik maun come straught, an' the rough maun come even: An' the gloir o' the LORD sal win but; an' a' fiesch see siclike, that's livin: for the mouthe o' the LORD, it was, spak it. Syne quo' the sugh, Speak: an' What sal I say? quo' I: A' flesch, it 's but gerss; an its sheen, but the blum o' the fiel'. The gerss, it maun gae, an' the blum winna stay; whan the drouth o the LORD is blawin. O surely the folk, they're but hale! The gerss, it maun gae, an' the blum winna stay; bot the word o' our God stan's, ay growin. Up ti' the craig fu' hie, Dochtir wi' tidins till gie until Zioun! Up wi' yer tongue sae bauld; Dochtir, the news maun be tauld, till Jerusalem! Up, an' be nane alfiey'd; cry till the towns o' Judah wide, Leuk yer ain God, he 's comin! Leuk, it's the LORD himsel; reddin the road wi' might, an' his arm rax't out atowre him. Leuk, for the darg's his ain; an' the worth o' his wark 's afore him. Like the herd, he sal tent his fe: he sal oxter the lams himsel, an' his bosom sal fauld them fu' snod in; an' the yowes that are mithers till be, he sal cannily airt on the roddin. Wha keppit the fludes in his loof, an' laid aff the lift wi' a span? an' streekit the stoure o' the yirth in a caup; an weightit the heights on brods, an' bawkit the hills wi' his han'? Wha ettled JEHOVAH'S breath, or wyss-man o' his gied him lear? Wha-wi' teuk he thought, made him wysser; or taught him right-rechtin till ware? or yet gied him gude understandin'; or airted him straughter till fuhre? Na, the folk's but a drap i' the leglen; like stoure on the bawk, till his ee; an' the out-lyin folk on the watirs, he taks like a mote i' the sea! No Lebanon's sel for a bleeze, nor its beiss for ane offran', wad stan': A' the folk syne fornenst him war nocht, an' like naething, or less, till his han'. Till wham, syne, will ye liken God? or what draught o' yer ain will ye schupe him? The founder, he cowps out a cast; an' the smith, he can cleed it wi' gowd, an' oop it wi' links o' siller. Wha-sae canna fa' siclike, he wales a bit lastie timmer; some skeely han' maks an eidol o' that, sal stan' i' the neuk for evir. Dinna ye ken? winna ye hear-ken? was't-na weel tell'd ye, ay frae the fore? Kenn'd ye na this, frae the yirth was in store? Wha sits on the girth o' the yirth, an' its on-dwallers a' are but imoks afore him; wha streeks out the lift like a skift, an' raxes the clinds like a simmer-shielin: Wha breinges the big folk till nought; wha maks lairds o' the yirth but a toom spailin: They sal lea' neither soukir nor seed; their stok i' the grun sanna breed; on them gin he blaw, they sal wither awa; an' like stibble, the storm gar them skreed. Till wham sal ye even me, than? or sal I be made like, quo' the Halie Ane, syne? Rax up yer een, an' leak: wha schupit a' the same? wha airts but their thrang ayont tellin, cryin ilk ane by his name? sae grit is his might an his can-cracht, no ane o' them a' bides at hame. What- for syne, cry ye, o Jakob? an' Isra'l, what-for do ye mene? My gate, frae the LORD it's been happit; an' my right, frae my God it's forlien! Dinna ye ken? hae-na ye heard? that JEHOVAH's ay God himsel! the schaiper o' a' the outgaens o' yirth; that he's neither weak nor weary, an his kennin's ayont a' tell! Heart gies he till the dowie; an' the feckless, he stoops fu' weel: Aye, young lads may swak an' weary; an' braw lads come down wi' a sweel; Bot wha lippen ay till JEHOVAH, they sal eke out their strenth an' a'; they sal cleed them twice owre, like the aigle: they sal rin an' they sanna paingle; they sal gang, an' be nane forfoch'en ava! An Zioun's light war kennle'd right, an innco skance on the warld sal be: the gloam sal gang, an' the folk sal thrang, an' sal lout till the LORD on ilka knee. Wauken an' light, for yer light's weel on; an' the gloir o' the LORD, it sal crown yo: Aye, mirk it sal theek the yirth, an' gloam on the folk it sal lye syne; bot the LORD sal gang heigh, wi' a bleeze, owre yersel, an' his gloir sal be seen abune yo: an' the folk, they sal come till the lowe o' yer light, an' kings till the skance o' yer risin. Rax yer een roun', an' see; they gather ilk ane, they come a' till thee: frae far eneugh owre, yer sons they sal fuhre, an yer dochtirs aside them sal carried be. It's syne ye sal trimmle an' gang like a flude: an' yer heart it sal thole, an' rax the snood: whan sic a braw spate sal rowe yer ain gate, an' the feck o' the folk till yersel sal swee. Droves o' camels sal theek yo thrang; dromedars frae Midian an' Ephah: the lave o' siclike frae Sheba sal gang; gowd an' spyse, they sal carry't alang; an' sal lilt out the laud o' JEHOVAH. Hail flocks frae Kedar sal gather till thee; the tups o' Nebaioth sal ser' yo fine: they sal gang for an offran till pleasur me; an' my howff sae braw I sal glorify syne. An' wha can thae be, like a clud that flee, an' like dowis till their dookats abreid? Wha but the isles that's waitin on me, an' the schips o' Tarshish at their head? a' till fesh hame yer sons frae outowre, their siller an' gowd wi' themsels an' a'; till JEHOVAH'S name, that's God o' yer ain, an' Isral's Halie Ane, for he made yo braw. An' the sons o' the frem, they sal bigg yer dykes; an' their kings, they sal be at yer beck wi' a': for ance, i' my wuth, I raught yo reyks; bot wi' unco luve I sal tak yo a'. Syne wide eneugh ay, yer yetts they sal be; day nor night, they'se be steekit nane: for the feck o' the folk till win hame till thee; an' their kings, in levee, sal be airtit ben. For the folk an' reale winna lout till yersel, frae the lave o' the warld they sal thowe awa; aye, folk siclike, wi' an unco reyk, sal be riv'n in twa. Aye, Lebanon's crown, till yersel sal come roun'; the bright an' the tight, an' the straught thegither: my halie bit sae braw till fit; whar my feet maun stan', I sal mak it gran' like nae ither. An' the sons o' wha wrang'd yo ance, they sal come an' sal cow'r till thee; an' sal lout till the soles o' yer feet, a' that ance lightlied yer plea: an' sal cry till yo syne, The LORD'S ain town; the Zioun's sel, o' Him that's fu' lown intil Israel. An' e'en's ye 'been skail'd an' misliket, wi' nane till gang thro' yo ava'; I'se mak yo nae en' o' blythe bidden, a joie till folk's outcome a': An' ye'se pree o' the milk o' the hethen, an' thrive at the breist o' kings; an' ye 'se ken syne, mysel that's JEHOVAH, 's yer heal-hadder an' e 'en yer hame-bringer, sae stieve intil Jakob that rings. For brass, I sal e'en fesh the gowd; an' for airn, I 'se fesh siller an' a': for timmer, it's brass; an' for stanes, it 's airn I sal ca': an' yer owre-leukers syne I 'se mak peace; an' yer tax-men, the best o' law. Nae mair sal stouthrief be heard i' yer lan'; wust nor wrang, intil a' yer marches: bot Salvatioun's sel, till yer dykes ye sal cry; an' Laud, ye sal cry, till a' yer arches. Nae mair sal the sun be yer day-light syne; nor the mune nae mair, be for sheen till guide yo: bot the LORD till yersel sal be light evir mair, an' that God o' yer ain be for gloir aside yo. Nae mair sal yer sun gang hame at night, nor yer mune ony mair be mendit: for the LORD, he sal e'en be yer lastin light; an' the days o' yer dule sal be endit. Syne rightous eneugh, yer folk sal be a'; an' the lan', evir mair they sal haud it: the schute o' my sheughin, my ain han's makin, that sae I suld hae a' the laud o't. Till a thousan', or lang, a nought sal growe; an' a wean, till a mighty natioun: mysel, that's the Lord, in time enow, for siclike I sal gie gude cautioun. Noo, when Jesus was born in Bethlehem o Judaea in the days o Herod the Roy, there cam wyce men east-bye, tae Jerusalem. Speirin, 'whaur is he wha is born Roy o the Jews? sin we hae gliskit his starn eassilt, and ettle tae worship him'. Whan Herod the Roy was telt aboot it, he was fashit and aa Jerusalem wi him. And when he had conveenit aa the Heigh Priests, and aa the Writers o the fowk thegither, he speirt at them whaur the native o Christ suld be. And quo they tae him, 'In Bethlehem o Judaea, for sae it is screevit by the prophet. And ye, Bethlehem in the kintra o Juda arena the peeriest amang the athils o Juda, for out o ye sall come a Capitane wha sall haud the stere owre ma fowk, Israel'. Than Herod, whan he spak in chaumer wi the wyce men, speirt at them eidentlie, whatna time the starn had been gliskit. And he sent them awa tae Bethlehem, and quo he, 'Gang and speir eidentlie anent the wee laddie, and whan ye hae fun him, be shair and lat me ken, sin Ah maun come and worship him alsweel'. Whan they had lippent tae the Roy, they tuik the gait and the starn whilk they saw eassilt gaed afore them, till it cam and stude owre whaur the bairn liggit. Whan they saw the starn, they were unco blythe, aye, teemin owre wi joy. And when they cam intae the hoose they saw the bairnikin wi Mary his mither, and loutit doon, and worshipt him: and whan they had toomit their thesaury they gied him compliments; gowd, and frankincense, and myrrh. Blesset are the puir in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom o' heaven. Blesset are they wha murn: for they sall be comfortet. Blesset are the meek: for they sall inherit the yirth. Blesset are they wha hunger an' thirst after richteousness: for they sall be fillet. Blesset are the mercifu': for they sall obteen mercy. Blesset are the pure in hairt: for they sall see God. Blesset are the peace-makers: for they sall be ca'd the childer o' God. Blesset are they wha are persecutet for richteousness' sak': for theirs is the kingdom o' heaven. Blesset are ye, whan men sall misca' you, an' persecute you, an' sall say a' kin'kind o' evil agayne you fauseiy, for my sak'. Rejoice, an' be unco glad; for meikle is your reward in heaven: for sae persecutet they the prophets wha were afore you. Ye are the saut o' the yirth; but gif the saut hath tint its savour, wharewi' sall it be sautet? It is thance-furth guid for naething, but to be coost out, an' to be trampet under fit o' men. Hou happie the puir at is hummie afore God, for theirs is the Kingdom o heiven! Hou happie the dowff an dowie, for they will be comfortit! Hou happie the douce an cannie, for they will faa the yird! Hou happie them at yaups an thrists for richteousness, for they will get their sairin! Hou happie the mercifu, for they will win mercie! Hou happie the clean o hairt, for they will see God! Hou happie the redders o strow an strife, for they will be caa'd the childer o God! Hou happie them at hes dree'd misgydin for richteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom o Heiven! Hou happie ye, whan they tash an misgyde ye an say aathing ill o ye, liein on ye, for my sake! Blythe be ye an mirkie, for gryte is the rewaird bidin ye in heiven; it wis een sae they misgydit the Prophets afore ye. Ye ar the saut o the warld. But gin the saut gaes saurless, what will gie it back its tang? There is nocht adae wi it mair but cast it outbye for fowk tae patter wi their feet. Blessit be pure men in spirit: for the kingdom of heuenis is tharis. Blessit be myld men: for thai sal weld the erde. Blessit be thai that murnis: for thai salbe confortit. Blessit be thai that hungris and threstis richtwisnes: for thai salbe fulfullit. Blessit be merciful men: for thai sal get mercy. Blessit be thai that ar of clene hart: for thai sal se God. Blessit be peciabile men: for thai salbe callit Goddis childir. Blessit be thai that suffiris persecutioun for richtwisnes: for the kingdom of heuenis is tharis. Ye salbe blessit quhen men sal curse you, and sal persew you, and sal say al euil aganis you leand, for me. Joy ye, and be ye glaid; for your mede is plentuous in heuenis: for sa thai haue persewit alsa prophetis that war before you. Ye ar salt of the erde: that gif the salt vanyse away, quharein sal it be saltit? to nathing is it worthi ouer, but that it be castin out, and be defoulit of men. Blisset ar the puir in speerit: for theirs is the kingdoom o' heaeven. Blisset ar they that murn: for they sall be comfortet. Blisset ar the meik: for they sall inherit the yirth. Blisset ar they that do hunger an' thirst efter richtiousniss: for they sall be fillet. Blisset ar the mercifu': for they sall obteen mercie. Blisset ar the pure in hairt: for they sall see God. Blisset ar the peace-makers: for they sall be ca't the childer o' God. Blisset ar they whilk ar persecutet for richtiousniss' sak': for theirs is the kingdoom o' heaeven. Blisset ar ye whan men sall misca' yow, an' persecute yow, an' sall say a' kinkind o' ill agayne yow fauselie, for my sak'. Rejoice an' be excessiv glad: for grit is your rewaird in heaeven: for sae persecutet they the prophets whilk wer afore yow. Ye ar the saut o' the yirth: but gif the saut has lost its savor, wharewi' sall it be sautet? it is frae that time furth guid for naething but til be ceasan out, an trampet under fit o' men. ] Happy the spirits that are lown and cannie: for the kingdom o' Heeven is waitin for them! Happy they wha are makin their maen; for they sal fin' comfort and peace. Happy the lowly and meek o' the yirth: for the yirth sal be their ain haddin. Happy they whase hunger and drouth are a' for holiness: for they sal be satisfy't! Happy the pitfu': for they sal win pitie theirsels! Happy the pure-heartit: for their een sal dwal upon God! Happy the makkers-up o' strife: for they sal be coontit for bairns o' God! Happy the ill-treatit anes for the sake o' gude: for they'se hae the kingdom o' God! Happy sal ye be whan folk sal misca' ye, and ill-treat ye, and say a' things again ye wrangouslie for my sake! Joy ye, and be blythe! for yere meed is great in Heeven! for e'en sae did they to the prophets afore ye! The saut o' the yirth are ye: but gin the saut hae tint its tang, hoo's it to be sautit? Is it no clean useless? to be cuisten oot, and trauchl't under folk's feet. Blythe are they wha ken thair need o God; for the Kingdom o Hevin is waitin for them. Blythe are they wha are sorrowfu; for they sall find comfort an peace. Biythe are the lowly an meek o the erthe; for they sall inherit the erthe. Blythe are they whase hunger an drowth are aa for haliness; for they sall be satisfyit. Blythe are the pitifu; for they sal win pitie thairsels. Blythe are the pure o hert; for thair een sall dwell apon God. Blythe are the peace-makers; for they sall be coontit as bairns o God. Blythe are the ill-treatit anes for the sake o guid; for they sall hae the Kingdom o God. Blythe sall ye be whan folk sall mis-caa ye, an persecute ye, an say things aganis ye fause, for ma sake. Be blythe an hae joy, for yer rewaird is grete in Hevin; for e'en so did they tae the prophets afore ye. The saut o the erthe ye are, but gin the saut has tint its tang, hoo's it tae be sautit? It is wi'oot use but tae be cast away an tramplit under the feet o folk. Ye haue herd that it was said to aldmen, Thou sal lufe thi nechbour, and hate thin ennimy: Bot I say to you, lufe your ennimyes, do ye wele to thame that hates you, and pray ye for thame that persewis and sclandiris you; That ye be the sonnis of your fadir that is in heuenis: that makis his sonne to rise vponn gude and euil men, and raynis on just and vniust men. For gif ye iufe thame that luvis you, quhat mede sal ye haue? quhethir gif publicanis dois nocht this? And gif ye salus your brethir anlie, quhat said ye do maire? quhethir gif hethinmen dois nocht this? Tharfor be ye perfite, as your heuenlie fadir is perfite. Takis hede that ye do nocht your richtwisnes befor men, to be sene of thame; ellis ye sal haue na mede at your fadir that is in heuenis. Tharfor, quhen thou dois almes, will thou nocht blaw trumpet befor thee, as ypocritis dois in synagogis and stretis, that thai be wirschipit of men. Suthlie I say to you, thai haue ressauet thar mede. Bot quhen thou dois almes, know nocht thi left hand quhat thi richt hande dois; That thin almes be in hidlis: and thi fadir that seis in hidlis sal quite thee. And quhen ye pray, ye sai nocht be as ypocritis: that luvis to pray standand in synagogis and newkis of stretis, to be sene of men. Trewlie I say to you, thai haue ressauet thar mede. Bot quhen thou sal pray, entir into thi cubicile, and quhen the dure is closit, pray thi fadir in hidlis; and thi fader that seis in hidlis sal yeld to thee. Bot in praying, wil ye nocht speke mekile, as hethin men dois: for thai wene that thai ar herde in thar mekile speche. Tharfor wil ye nocht be made like to hame: for your fader wate quhat is nedeful to you befor that ye ask him. And thus ye sai pray: Our fader that art in heuenis, hallewit be thi name. Thi kingdom cum to. Thi wil be done in erde, as in heuen. Gefe to vs this day our breid ouer vthir substance. And forgif to vs our dettis, as we forgef to our dettouris. And leid vs nocht into temptatioun, bot deliuer vs fra euile. Amen. For gif ye forgefe to men thar synnis, your heuenlie fader sal forgefe to you your trespassis: Suthlie gif ye forgeve nocht to men, nouthir your fader sal forgeue to you your synnis. Bot quhen ye fast, wil ye nocht be made as ypocritis soroufull: for thai deface thameself, to seme fastand to men. Trewlie I say to you, thai haue ressauet thar mede. Bot quhen thou fastis, anoynt thi held, and wesch thi face; That thou be nocht sene fastand to men, bot to thi fader that is in hidlis: and thi fader, that seis in priuee, sai yeld to thee. Will ye nocht tresoure to you tresouris in erde, quhar roust and mouris destroyis, and quhar thevis delues out and steles. Bot gader to you tresouris in heuen, quhar nouthir roust nor mowris destroyis, and quhar thevis deluis nocht out nore steilis: For quhare thi tresour is, thar alsa thin hart is. The lannterne of thi body is thin e: gif thin e be sympile, al thi body salbe lichtfull. Bot gif thin e be waywart, al thi body salbe mirk. Gif than the licht that is in thee be mirknessis, how gret sal thailk mirknessis be! Faither o us aa, bidan Abune! Thy name be holie! Lat Thy reign begin! Lat thy wull be dune, on the yirth as in the Lift. Gie us ilka day our needfu fendin. And forgie us aa our ill deeds, as we forgie thae wha did us ill. And lat us no be siftit; but save us frae aa ill. For the croun is Thine ain, and the micht and the glorie, for evir and evir, AMEN. Our Father wha art in heaven, Hallowet be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be dune in yirth as it is in heaven. Gie us this day our daily bread. An' forgie us our debts, as we forgie our debtors: An' lead us na intil temptation, but deliver us frae evil; for thine is the kingdom, an' the power, an' the glory, for ever. Amen. Our Faither in heiven, hallowt be thy name; thy Kingdom come; thy will be dune on the yird, as in heiven. Gie us our breid for this incomin day; forgie us the wrangs we hae wrocht, as we hae forgien the wrangs we hae dree'd; an sey-us-na sairlie, but sauf us frae the ill Ane. Our Faether whilk art in heaeven. Hallowet be thy name. Thy kingdoom come. Thy wull be dune in yirth, as it is in heaeven. Gie us this day our daily brea'd. An' forgie us our dets as we forgie our detters: An' leed-us-na intill temptatione, but deliver us frae ill: for thine is the kingdoom, an' the power, an' the glorie, for evir. Saebeid. Faither o' us a', bidin Aboon! Thy name be holie! Lat thy reign begin! Lat thy wull be dune, on the Yirth as in Heeven! Gie us ilka day oor needfu' fendin. And forgie us a' oor ill deeds, as we e'en forgae thae wha did us ill: And lat us no be siftit; but save us frae the Ill-Ane! For the croon is thine ain, and the micht and the glorie, for evir and evir, Amen! Faither o us aa, bidin abune, Thy name be halie. Let thy reign begin, Thy Will be dune, On the erthe, as it is in Hevin. Gie us ilka day oor needfu fendin, An forgie us aa oor ill-deeds, E'en as we forgie thae wha dae us ill. An lat us no be testit, But sauf us frae the Ill-Ane: For the croon is thine ain, An the micht, An the glorie; For iver an iver, Amen. An' whan it was the gloamin' his disciples cam' til him, sayin', This is a muirland place, an' the time is now gane by; sen' the thrang awa, that they may gae intil the clachans, an' coff themsels victuals. But Jesus said until them, They needna gang awa: gie ye them to eat. An' they say until him, We hae here but five laives an' twa fishes. He said, Bring them here til me. An' he commaundet the thrang to sit doun on the gerse, an' teuk the five laives an' the twa fishes, an' leukin' up til heaven, he blesset, an' brak, an' gied the laives til his disciples, an' the disciples til the thrang. An' they did a' eat, an' were satisfiet: an' they teuk up o' the orra bits whilk were left twal creels-fu'. An' they that had eaten were about five thousan' men, forbye women an' bairns. An' straughtway Jesus gar't his disciples get intil a ship, an' gae afore him until the tither side, while he sendet the thrang awa. An' whan he had sendet the thrang awa, he gaed up intil a mountain by himsel to pray: and whan the gloamin' was come he was there alane. But the ship was now in the middle o' the sea, tosset wi' waves; for the win' was contrair. An' in the fourt' watch o' the nicht Jesus gaed until them, gangin' on the sea. An' whan the disciples saw him gangin' on the sea, they were fleyed, sayin', It is a wraith; an' they screighet out for fear. But straughtway Jesus spak' until them, sayin', Be o' guid cheer; it is me; binna fleyed. An' Peter answer't him, an' said, Lord, gin it be thou, bid me come until thee on the water. An' he said, Come. An' whan Peter was come doun out o' the ship he gaed on the water to gang til Jesus. But whan he saw the win' gousty, he was afear't, an', beginnin' to sink, he criet, sayin', Lord, saufe me. An' at ance Jesus raught furth his han', an' teuk haud o' him, an' said until him, o thou o' little faith, wharefore didst thou doubt? An' whan they were come intil the ship, the win' ceaset. Syne they wha were in the ship cam' an' worshippet him, sayin', Verament thou art the Son o' God. An' Jesus answiret an' spak' untill them agane in parables, an' said, The kingdoom o' heaeven is like untill ane certain king, whilk made ane bridal for his son, An' sendet furth his servents til ca' them that wer bidden til the waddin': an' they wadna come. Agane he sendet furth ither servents, sayin', Tell them whilk ar bidden, Behald, I hae prepairet my denner; my ousen an my fatlins ar killet, an' a' things ar readie: come til the bridal. But they made licht o't, an' gaed their wayes, ane til his mailin, anither til his merchentdes. An' the lave tuik his servents, an' treetet them despightfullie an' sleyet them. But whan the king heard o't, he was verra angrie: an' he sendet furth his bands o' weir, an' destroyet thae murderars, an' brunt up their citie. Than saith he til his servents, The waddin' is readie, but they whilk wer budden werna wurdy. Gang ye therfor intill the hiewayes, an' as mony as ye sall fin', bid them til the bridal. Sae thae servents gaed out intill the hiewayes, an' getheret thegither a' as mony as they fand, baith bad an' guid: an' the waddin' was fittet out wi' gests. An' whan the king cam' in til see the gests, he saw ther ane man whilk hadna ane waddin' garmint: An' he saith untill him, Frien', how camest thou in hidder, nat haein' ane waddin' garmint? An' he was dumfoun'eret. Than said the king til the servents, Bin' him han' an' fit, an' tak' him awa, an' cast him intill outter derkness: there sall be greetin' an' cherkin' o'teeth. For mony ar ca't, but few ar chosin. Jesus nou quat the Temple; an, as he gaed alang, the disciples cam up an baud him luik up at the Temple biggins. 'Ye see aa that?' qo he. 'Atweill, I tell ye, no ae stane o them aa will be left abuin anither: the haill Temple will be but a rickle.' Efterhin, whan he wis sittin his lane on the Hill o Olives, the disciples cam up an said til him, 'Whan is thae things tae be? An whattan taiken will we hae at your back-comin an the hinnerend o the praisent warld is naurhaund?' Jesus answert, 'Tak tent at nae man leads ye agley! For monie-ane will kythe, takkin my name an threapin, "I am the Christ"; an monie feck they will lead agley. Ye will hear tell o wars an souchs o war, but be ye nane flichtert. Siccan things maun een be, but that isna the end. For fowk will mak war on fowk, an kinrick on kinrick; an faimins there will be an yirdquauks in orra pairts. Aa thae things is but the onfaa o the birth-thraws. Than will they haund ye owre tae them at will sair ill-gyde ye an kill ye, an in ilka laund ye will be hatit because ye beir my name. Monie will tyne their faith i thae days an betray ilk ither for hate. Monie fauss prophets will kythe an lead monie agley, an wi the wickitness lairge in ilka place the luve o the maist feck will grow cauld. But him at hauds out till the end will be saufed. Mairatowre, this Gospel o the Kingdom will first be preached out-throu the haill warld an made kent til the haithen aagate, an syne the end will come. Whan, therefore, ye see the Deidlie Ugsome Thing at the Prophet Daniel spak o staundin i the Halie Place 'ye at reads this, tak tent!' them at wons in Judaea maun tak the hills. Him at is up on his houss-heid maunna gae doun intil the houss tae lift his gear, an him at is afield maunna gang back hame tae fesh his coat. Wae's me for weimen at is big wi bairn or giein souk i thae days! Pray at your flicht faasna in wintertime, or on the Sabbath, for the dule an dree o that time will be sic as there hesna been the like o frae the beginnin o the warld till nou, nor nivermair will be. Gin thae days hedna been shortent, nae-ane ava wad be left tae the fore: but shortent they will be for the sake o the Eleck. Gin onie-ane says tae ye than, "Luik, here's the Christ", or "See, yonder's the Christ", lippen-him-na. For monie fauss Christs an fauss prophets will kythe an wurk miracles an ferlies tae gar een the Eleck gae will, coud sic a thing be. Mind, nou, I hae wairned ye! Gin they say tae ye than, "He's thereout i the muirs", gang-ye-na furth; or gin they tell ye, "He's ben the houss in ane o the chaumers", lippen-them-na. For as the fireflaucht lowps leamin athort the lift frae the aist tae the wast, een sae will be the comin o the Son o Man. Whaur the carcage liggs, thair the vulturs forgethers. As shune as thae days o dule an dree is by, The sun will be mirkit, an the minin winna gie her licht; the stairns will faa frae the Carrie, an the pouers i the lift will be dinnelt. Than will the sign o the Son o Man kythe i the lift, an aa the clans o the yird will murn an baet their breists; an they will see the Son o Man comin on the clouds o the lift wi unco micht an glore. Wi a dunnerin blast o the horn he will send furth his angels; an they will gether his Eleck frae the fowr airts, frae the tae end o the lift tae the tither. Tak a lesson o the feg-tree. Whan its ryss grows sappie an saft, an the leafs onfaulds, ye ken at the simmer is naur. Siclike, whan ye see aa thir things happnin, ye maun ken at the end is naur - ay, at your verra doors! Atweill, I tell ye, this generation winna pass awa or aa thir things hes happent. The lift an the yird will pass awa, but my wurds winna pass awa. But the day an the hour nae-ane kens, no een the angels in heiven, nor the Son: na, nane but the Faither alane! At the comin o the Son o Man it will be the same wey as it wis i the days o Noah. I thae days afore the Fluid fowk wis thrang aitin an drinkin, mairriein an giein in mairrage, richt up tae the time whan Noah gaed intil the Airk; an naething jaloused they, or the Fluid cam an soopit them aa awa. That is the wey it will be at the comin o the Son o Man. Twa men will be wurkin thegither i the field - ane o them will be taen, an the tither left ahent; twa weimen will be caain a haundmill thegither - ane o them will be taen, an the tither left ahent. Haud ye ey wauken, than, for ye kenna what day your Maister is comin. But o this ye may be shair: gin the guidman hed kent at what hour of the nicht the thief wis tae come, he wad hae bidden waukin, an no latten his houss be brakken intil. Sae ye, tae, maun ey be reddie, sin the Son o Man will come at an hour whan ye'r bodin him nane. Wha's the wysslike an faithfu servan at his maister lippent wi the owrance o the lave, an seein at they war maitit raiglar? Happie man, at his maister, whan he comes hame, finnds daein the wark he wis gien tae dae! He'll gie him the gydin o aa he is aucht, I s' warran ye. But gin he is an ill- set bleck, yon servan, an says til himsel, "He's lang o comin, the Maister", an faas tae lounderin the ither servans an gilravagin wi the dribblin-core, syne, on a day he bodesna, an at an hour he kensna, the maister o that servan will come hame, an will hag him in pieces an assign him his dail wi the hypocrites; an it is there at the yaumer an the chirkin o teeth will be! Here is whatlike it will be wi the Kingdom o Heiven, whan that day comes. The' wis aince ten deames gaed out tae meet the bridegroom an the bride at a waddin, takkin their bouets wi them. Five o them wis glaikit lassies, an five wis wysslike queyns. The glaikit anes tuik their bouets, but they tuik nae orra oil wi them: but the wysslike anes tuik baith their bouets an oil- pouries forbyes. The bridegroom wis lang o comin, an the lassies aa dovert an fell owre. At midnicht the cry wis raised: "Here's the bridegroom; come out an meet him!" The din waukent the lassies, an they rase an fettelt up their bouets. The glaikit anes said tae the wyss anes, "Lat see a twa-three draps oil: our bouets is gaein out!" "Nae fears!" the wyss anes answert. "We haena what wad sair ye an hiz baith belike. Better gae tae the chops an buy yoursels some." Sae aff they gaed tae buy their oil. I the mids o the meantime the bridegroom cam, an the lassies at wis reddie gaed inbye wi him tae the waddin-brakfast, an the door wis steikit. A whilie efter, the ither lassies cam an begoud cryin, "Pleise, sir, apen the door til us!" But he answert, "Atweill, I hae nae kennin o ye ava!" Haud ye ey wauken, than; for ye ken naither the day nor the hour. Or again, it is like this. A man at wis gaein out o the kintra caa'd up his servans an haundit his haudin owre tae them tae gyde. He lippent ane wi five talents, anither wi twa, an a third wi ane - ilkane wi the soum confeirin til his capacitie. Syne he gaed his waas out o the kintra. The man at hed gotten the five talents gaed strecht awa an yuised them sae weill in tredd at he made ither five talents; an siclike him at hed gotten the twa talents wan ither twa talents. But him at hed gotten the ae talent gaed awa an howkit a hole i the grund an hade his maister's siller intil it. Ffter a lang time, the maister o thae servans cam hame an huid a racknin wi them. Him at hed gotten the five talents cam forrit wi ither five talents forbye an said, "Maister, ye lippent me wi five talents: see, here's ither five talents I hae made." "Weill dune, guid an leal servan!" said his maister til him. "Ye hae been leal wi the gydin o little, I s' gie ye the gydin o muckle. Awa in tae your Maister's banqet!" Syne him at hed gotten the twa talents cam forrit an said, "Maister, ye lippent me wi twa talents: see, here's ither twa talents I hae made." "Weill dune, guid an leal servan!" said his maister. "Ye hae been leal wi the gydin o little, I s' gie ye the gydin o muckle. Awa in tae your Maister's banqet!" Lest, him at gat the ae talent cam forrit an said, "Maister, I kent ye for a dour man an a stour, at maws whar he hesna sawn, an shears whaur he hesna seedit; sae I wis feared, an gaed awa an hade your talent i the grund: here it is back tae ye." "Ye sweird wratch o a servan!" said his maister. "Ye kent at I maw whaur I haena sawn, an shear whaur I haena seedit - ye kent that, na? A-weill, than, ye suid hae pitten my siller i the Bank, an syne I wad hae gotten it back wi annualrent at my hamecome. Tak his talent awa frae him, an gie it til him at hes the ten talents: For til havers mair is gien, till it faur outgangs their need: frae not-havers is taen een what they hae. An cast yon wanwurdie servan intil the mirk outbye." It is there at the yaumer an the chirkin o teeth will be! Whan the Son o Man comes in his glorie, an aa his angels wi him, he will sit him doun on his throne o glorie; an aa the fowks o the yird will be gethert afore him, an he will shed them intil twa hirsels, as a herd sheds the sheep frae the gaits; an the sheep he will hirsel on his richt haund, an the gaits on his cair haund. Than the King will say til them on his richt haund, "Come your waas, ye at hes my Faither's blissin, an tak possession o your heirskip, the Kingdom prepared for ye frae the founds o the warld wis laid. For I wis yaup, an ye gae me mait; I wis thristie, an ye gae me drink; I wis an utlan, an ye gae me bed an bicker; I wis nakit, an ye cleadit me; I wis sick, an ye tentit me; I wis in jyle, an ye cam inbye tae me." Syne the richteous will answer. "Lord, whan saw we ye yaup, an gae ye mait? Or thristie, an gae ye drink? Whan saw we ye an outlan, an gae ye bed an bicker? Or nakit, an cleadit ye? Whan saw we ye sick or in jyle, an gaed inbye til ye?" Syne the King will say til them, "Atweill, I tell ye, oniething at ye did til ane o thir hummle brithers o mine, ye did it til me." Than will he say til them on his cair haund, "Awa wi ye out o my sicht, ye curst anes, awa til the iverlestin fire prepared for the Deivil an his angels! For I wis yaup, an ye gae- me-na malt; I wis thristie, an ye gae-me-na drink; I wis an outlan, an ye gae-me-na bed an bicker; I wis nakit, an ye cleadit-me-na; I wis sick an in jyle, an ye tentit-me-na." Syne they, tae, will answer, "Lord, whan saw we ye yaup, or thristie, or an outlan, or nakit, or sick, or in jyle, an wadna dae ocht for ye?" An he will say tae them, "Atweill, I tell ye, oniething at ye did no dae til ane o thir hummle anes, ye did no dae it tae me." An thir will gang awa til iverlestin punishment, but the richteous will gang til iverlestin life.' Jairus' Dochter Whan Jesus gaed back til the ither side o the loch, a grete thrang o folk gaithert aboot him. Noo, tak tent, thair kythit a man caa'd Jairus wha wis ruler o the Synagogue. He lowtit doon at Jesus' feet an socht o him tae come til his hoose. 'Ma dochter is at daith's door,' he cried. 'Gin thou wid but come an lay yer hauns ower her, she wid be sauvit, an she wid live'. Jesus gaed wi him, an monie folk followit an thrangit him. Amang them wis a wumman wha had suffert frae a rin o bluid for twal year. Whan she heard of the things aboot Jesus, she cam up frae ahint in the crood an touched the hem o his coat, kennin that she wid be hailed. The fountain o her bluid wis stemmed at aince, an she kent in hersel that she wish deliverit frae that ill. But Jesus, takin tent o the poo'er gaun oot frae him, turned aboot in the thrang an speired, 'Wha touched me?' The disciples quo, 'Ye see the thrang pressin on ye an ye ask, "Wha touched me"?' Syne Jesus luikit weel roon tae see wha had dune this thing. An the wumman, trimmlin wi fear, kennin whit wis dune tae her, cam forrit an fell doon afore him, an telt him aa the trowth. Jesus said tae her, 'Dochter, yer faith has gart ye hale; gang in peace an be lowsit frae yer trubill'. While he yit spak, thair cam a message frae the ruler o the Synagogue's hoose: 'Yer dochter has dee'd. Why suld ye fash the Maister onie mair?' But at aince Jesus, owerhearin whit wis said, spak tae the messenger, 'Dinna be feart: onlie believe'. As Jesus cam til the hoose, he fund a grete stramash, wi lood greetin an wailin. Jesus said tae them, 'Why gar ye aa this ado? The lassie isna deid. She is sleepin'. They leuchit at him, so Jesus tuik the faither an mither intil the room whar the bairn wis liggin. Takin her haun, he said tae her, 'talitha cumi', whilk means, 'Ma bairn, rise up'. At aince the lass, wha wis onlie twal year auld, rase up an walked. Ande Jesus began to speke to tham in parabilis. A man plantit a wynyard, and set a hege about it, and deluet a lake, and biggit a toure, and set it in hyre to teelaris, and past furth in pilgrimage. And he send to the teelaris in tyme a seruand, to resaue of the erdteelars of the fruit of the wyneyard. And thai tnke him, and strake him, and left him void. And eftsone he send to thame ane vther seruand; and thai woundit him in the held, and turmentit him. And eftsone he send ane vthir; and thai slew him, and vthir mony; striking sum, and slaing vthere. Bot yit he had a maast dereworthe sonn, and he sent him last to thame, and said, Perauentur thai will drede my sonn. Bot the erdtelars said togiddir, This is the aire; cum ye, sla we him, and the heretage sal be ouris. And thai tuke him, and slew him, and kest out without the wyneyarde. Tharfore quhat sal the lord of the wyneyarde do? He sal cum and he sal tyne the teelars, and geue the wyneyarde to vtheris. Quhethir ye haue nocht redd this scripture; The staan quhilk the biggars has reprevit, this is made in the held of the connye: This thing is done of the Lorde, and it is in oure een? . . And aan of the scribes that had herd thame wonnderful disputing togiddire, come neire, and saw that Jesus had wele ansuerd to thame, and askit him, Quhilk was the first mandment of al? And Jesus ansuerd to him, That the first mandment of all is, Here thou, Israel; Thi Lord God is a God: And thou sal lufe thi Lord God of al thi hart, and of all thi saule, and of al thi mynd, and of al thi mycht. This is the first mandment. And the secund is liik to this, Thou sal lufe thi nechbour as thi self. Thare is naan vthir mandment gretare than thir. Ande the scribe said to him, Maister, in treuth thou has wele said; for a God is, and thare is naan vthir out tak him. That he be luvit of al the hart, and of al the mynd, and of all the vndirstanding, and of all the saule, and of all the strenthe, and to lufe the nechbour as himself, is greatare than al brint offringis and sacrificis. And Jesus, seand that he had ansuerd wisely, said to him, Thou art nocht ferr fra the kingdome of God. And than na man durst ask him maire ony thing. It wantit but twa days or the Passowre an the Feast o Barmless Breid, an the Held-Priests an Doctors o the Law wis castin owre hou they micht git their haunds on Jesus bi some prat an pit him tae deith. 'But no throu the Feast,' said they, 'or we'r like tae hae the fowk raisin a stramash!' Ae day, whan he wis lyin at the buird i the houss o Simon the Lipper at Bethanie, a wuman cam in wi a stowp o dairthfu uilie o rael nard in her haund an, brakkin aff the tap o the stowp, tuimed the uilie owre his heid. Some o them at wis there wis sair ill-pleised an said til ither, 'What for's this waistrie o guid nard? It micht hae been sauld for three hunder white shillins an mair, an the siller gien tae the puir!' Syne they turned an yokit on the wuman. But Jesus said, 'Lat her abee; what cause hae ye tae fash her? It wis braw an weill dune o her, this at she hes dune for me. The puir ye hae ey wi ye, an ye can dae them kindness whaniver ye will, but me ye s' no hae ey wi ye. She hes dune aa at wis in her pouer tae dae; she hes anointit my bodie for my buiral afore the day. Atweill, I tell ye, whauriver the Gospel is preached the haill warld her storie will be tauld, sae as she s' ne'er be forgot.' Syne Judas Iscariot, ane o the Twal, gaed awa til the Held-Priests tae offer tae betray him intil their haunds. Whan he tauld them what he hed comed for, they war fair liftit up an shored him a soum o siller, an he begoud tae luik out for a guid opportunitie o betrayin him. On the first day o the Feast, whan the Jews wis in yuiss tae fell the Passowre Lamb, the disciples speired at Jesus whaur it wis his will they suid ging an mak fore-redd for him tae ait his Passowre. Sae he sent aff twa o them wi thir orders: 'Ging intil the toun,' he tauld them, 'an there ye'll forgether wi a man wi a watter-kit cairriein. Fallow him; an whan he gaes intil a houss, say til the guidman o the same, "The Maister baud us ax ye whaur is the chaumer trystit for him an his disciples tae ait the Passowre in." The man will tak ye up the stair an shaw ye a muckle chaumer wi couches weill spreid up, an aathing in order. That is whaur ye ar tae mak fore-redd for us.' Sae the twasome tuik the gate an cam intil the toun, whaur they faund aathing as Jesus hed tauld them; an they made reddie for the Passowre. Whan it wis weirin late, Jesus cam til the place wi the Twal. As they lay at the buird takkin their sipper, he said, 'Atweill, I tell ye, ane o ye is tae betray me, ane o ye at is here at the buird wi me.' Dule war they tae hear him, an they said til him, ane efter anither, 'No me, shairlie?' 'It is ane o the Twal,' qo he, 'ane at is dippin his piece i the bicker wi me. The Son o Man maun een gae the gate at Scriptur foretells for him: but waesucks for the man at is tae betray him! Better wad it been for that man, gin he hed ne'er been born.' Whan they war ey at the buird, Jesus tuik a laif an, efter he hed axed a blissin, brak it an gied it til them, sayin, 'Tak ye this, it is my bodie.' Syne he tuik a caup, gae thenks tae God, an raxed it til them, an ilkane o them drank frae it, an he said til them, 'This is my Bluid o the Covenant, whilk is skailed for monie. Atweill, I tell ye, I winna lip the bree o the grape again or the day tae come whan I drink a new wine i the Kingdom o God.' Whan they hed sung the Passowre Psaum, they gaed out an awa til the Hill o Olives. Belyve Jesus said tae them, 'Ye will aa turn fauss an faithless, for it is written in Scriptur: "I will ding the herd, an the hirsel will be sparpelt abreid." But efter I hae risen frae the deid, I will ging on afore ye tae Galilee.' Peter said til him, 'Lat ithers be fauss an faithless, Peter will ey haud leal an true!' Jesus answert, 'Atweill, I tell ye, nae later nor this day's nicht, or the cock craws twice, ye will disavou me thrice.' But Peter threapit the mair, 'Thou I buid die wi ye, I winna disavou ye nane, at winna I!' An siclike said the haill o them. Syne they cam til a dail caa'd Gethsemane, an he said til his disciples, 'Sit ye here, till I ging an pray. Sae they bade there, but he gaed on wi Peter an Jeames an John. An nou an unco dridder cam owre him, an he said til them, 'My saul is likin tae die for wae; bide ye here an haud ye wauken.' Syne he gaed forrit a bittock an cuist himsel on the grund an prayed at, gin it coud be, the hour o dree micht ging by him. 'Abba, Faither,' he prayed, nocht is abuin thy pouer, hain me this caup: yit no as my will, but as thy will, is. Syne he cam back an faund them asleep, an he said til Peter, 'Asleep, Simon, asleep? Docht-ye-na bide wankin ae hour? Bide ye aa wankin, an haud at the prayin, at ye haena tae dree nae sair seyal. Tho the spirit be freck, the flesh is feckless.' Again he gaed awa an prayed the same prayer as afore. Syne he cam back aince mair an faund them asleep, for their een wis hivvie wi tire; an they kentna what answer tae gie him. Yit a third time he cam back, an nou he said til them, 'Ey sleepin? Ey takkin your rest? Lang eneuch hae ye sleepit. The hour is comed: see, the Son o Man is eenou tae be betrayed intil the haunds o sinners! Rise ye up, an lat us gae meet them: ay, here he comes, my betrayer. The wurds wisna aff his tung afore Judas - ane o the Twal! - cam up, an wi him a thrang o fowk airmed wi whingers an rungs, at hed been sent bi the Held- Priests, Doctors o the Law, an Elders. The traitor hed gree'd a taiken wi them: 'Him at I kiss is the man ye'r seekin,' he hed sayen: 'grip him, an tak him awa under siccar gaird.' Sae, nou he wis at the bit, he gaed strecht up til him an caa'd him 'Maister' an kissed him; an than the ithers laid haunds on him an huid him siccar. Ane o the staunders-by drew his whinger an lent the Heid- Pries's servan a straik at sneddit aff his lug. Jesus than tuik speech in haund: 'Am I some reiver,' qo he, 'at ye needs come out wi whingers an rungs for tae fang me? Day an dailie I wis in amang ye teachin i the Temple, an ye laidna a haund on me. But Scriptur buid be fulfilled, I trew.' Syne the haill o his disciples forhoued him an scoured awa. A Sodger 's Faith Jesus gaed intil Capernaum aince mair, an a certane centurion's servan, wha wis thocht unco weel o by him, wis ill an like tae dee. The centurion, hearin aboot Jesus, sent til him elders o the Jews wha besocht him that he wid come an sauf his servin-man. Whan they cam til Jesus, they besocht him, sayin, 'The centurion is wurdie, for he luves oor nation an has biggit us a synagogue!' Jesus stertit oot wi them, but no bein faur frae the hoose, the centurion sent freends, sayin, 'Lord, dinna fash yersel, for I am-na wurdie that ye suld come neath ma ruif. An so naither thocht I ma-sel wurdie tae come til ye; but gie ye the comman an I ken ma servin-man sall be gart weel. For e'en I ma- sel am ane wi authoritie, an hae neath me sodgers, an I say tae ane, "Gang!", an he gangs an tae anither, "Come!", and he comes; an til ma servan, I say, "Dae this!", an he dis it'. Whan Jesus heard thae wurds he had wunner at the centurion, an turnin tae the thrang wha followit him, said, 'I say t'ye, I hae fund nae gretir faith nor this. Nae, no in aa Israel'. An they wha war sent noo gaed back til the hoose, an fund the servan in guid hail. The Weedow 's Son An it cam tae pass that Jesus gaed intil a toun caa'd, Nain, wi monie o his disciples wi him, an a grete thrang o folk. As they cam til the yett o the toun, they met wi a funeral. The deid man wis the onlie son o his mither, an she wis a weedow-wumman. Whan the Lord saw her, he had unco pitie on her, an said tae her, 'Dinna greet'. He cam an laid his haun on the coffin, an the bearers stappit. 'Laddie,' he said, 'I say onto thee, arise!' The deid man sat up an beguid tae speak. Jesus led him ower til his mither. An dreid fell apon them aa, an they praised God, cryin oot, 'A grete prophet has rase up amang us!' and 'God has veesitit his folk!' 'Are Ye The Ane?' Meantime the disciples o John the Bapteezer telt him aa that wis gaun on. John sent twa o his disciples til Jesus, sayin, 'Are ye the ane whilk suld come, or are we tae luik for anither ane?' At that verra hour Jesus hailed monie folk o thair diseases, pestrations an ill-speerits; an onto monie wha war blin, he gied sicht. Than Jesus answert them; 'Gang yer wey an cairry wurd til John o whit ye hae seen an heard: hoo the blin win thair sicht an the lame gang aboot, hoo lepers are gart clean, the deif can hear, the deid are risen, and the puir hae the joyfu message preached tae them. Blissit is the man wha sall hae faith in me!' An Ill-doer's Sins Forgien An a certane ane o the Pharisees bid Jesus tae eat wi him; an gaun intil the hoose o the Pharisee, Jesus sat doon tae mait. An see! a wumman o the toun, wha wis an ill-doer, brocht oot an alabaster box o ointment. An staunin afore Jesus, she lowtit doon an beguid tae wet his feet wi her tears. An she dichtit the tears aff wi her hair, an wis kissin his feet, an anointin them wi the perfume. Whan his host, the Pharisee, saw this, he spak tae his- sel, sayin, 'This man, gin he wis a prophet, wid hae taen tent wha an whitna sort this wumman is wha lays hauns on him; that she is an ill-doer'. Jesus, answerin his thocht, said tae him, 'Simon, I hae ane thing tae say tae ye'. Simon answert, 'Maister, say on. Jesus gaed on: 'Thair wis a certane creditor wi twa debtors; the ane owed five-hunner merk, an the ither fiftie. An whan they had nocht tae pey wi, he forgied them baith. Whilk ane a them noo will luve him mair?' Simon answert, 'I wid trow he tae wham he forgied the maist'. 'Ye hae judged richt,' quo Jesus. Syne turnin tae the wumman, he said tae Simon, 'See ye this wumman? I cam intil yer hoose, ye gied me nae watter for ma feet; but she wet ma feet wi her tears, an dichtit them wi her hair. Ye gied me nae kiss; but she kissed ma feet. Ye didna anoint ma heid; but she, wi perfume, anointit ma feet. 'Whaurfore, I say tae ye, her monie sins hae been forgien for she luvit much. But he tae wham little is forgien, luves but little'. Jesus turned til the wumman an said tae her, 'yer faith has sauvit ye. Gang in peace'. The sheep forwander't. The siller tint. The wastrel son comes hame. Tak ye tent o' the Lord's meanin! And thar war comin till him a' the tax men and the ill-deedie anes to hear him. And baith the Writers and the Pharisees war yammerin at him, 'This ane taks in ill-leevin folk, and eats meat wi' them!' And he spak to them this parable sayin, 'Whatna man amang ye, haein a hunner sheep, gin he tine ane frae amang them, disna lea' the ninety-and-nine i' the muirs, and gang awa eftir the forwander't ane, til he lichts on it? And, fa'in in wi't, he heizes it on his shouther, rejoicin; And, comin hame, he sen's for his freends and neebors; sayin to them, "Be blythe wi' me! for I hae fun' my sheep! the ane that forwander't!" I say t'ye, that in siclike sal thar be joy in heeven ower ae sinner repentin, mair nor ower ninety-and- nine gude o' the folk wha needit nae repentance. Or whatna wumman, haein ten siller-pennies, gin aiblins she tine ane o' them, disna licht a crusie, soop her hoose, and seek wi' tentie care, til whatna time she lichts on it? And, lichtin on't, she brings thegither her freends and neebors, sayin, "Be ye glad wi' me! for I fund the siller-penny I tint!" E'en sae, I say t'ye, sal thar be joy amang the Angels o' God ower ae sinner repentin.' He said, forby, 'A particular man had twa sons; And the young son said till his faither, "Faither! gie me my portion that wad fa' to me o' a' the gear!" And he portioned oot till them his leevin. And, a wheen days efter, the young son gaither't a' his gear thegither, and gaed awa frae hame till a far-awa lan'; and thar sperfl't his gear in riotousness. But mair: whan a' was gane thar cam up an awesome famine oot-throwe yon lan'; and he begude to be wantin. And he gaed awa, and was sornin on ane o' the men o' that lan': and he sent him oot-by to herd swine. And he fain wad fill't his sel wi' the hools the swine war eatin; and nae ane gied them till him. But, comin' till his richt min', quo' he, "Hoo mony are the fee'd servants o' my faither, wha hae rowth o' breid, and on ower-come; while I, here, dee o' hung'er! I wull rise and gang tae my faither, and wull say till him, My faither! I hae dune wrang, again Heeven, and afore you; Nae mair am I fit to be ca'd yere son; mak me like till ane o' the fee'd servants!" And, sae risin, he cam awa till his faither. But, while he was yet haudin far-awa, his faither spy't him, and was fu' o' compassion; and rinnin, he fell on his neck, and begude kissin him. And the son said till him, "My faither! I did wrang again Heeven, and afore you: I am nae mair wordie to be ca'd yere son!" But the faither said to the servants, "Waste nae time! bring oot a robe - the first and best an - and pit it on him; and gie a ring for his fing'er, and shoon for his feet; And bring oot the stall'd cauf, and kill it; that we may eat and be joyfu'! For he my son, was deid, and cam to life again; he had been tint, and is fund again!" And they begude to be joyfu'. But his auld brither was i' the field: and, as he cam in, he drew nar the hoose, and heard music and dancin. And, beckonin till him ane o' the fee'd folk, he speir't what aiblins a' this micht mean? And he said till him. "Yere brither has come back again; and yere faither has kill't the stall'd cauf, for that he gat him hame again a' safe and soun'." But he was fu' o' ang'er, and wadna gang in. His faither, tho', cam oot, and was entreatin him. But he answerin him, said till his faither, "See! a' thir years hae I ser't ye; and never did I gang ayont yere commauns; and at nae time did ye gie me e'en a kid, that I micht mak a feast for my freends; But whane'er this yere son, wha has devoor't yere leevin wi' harlots, cam, ye killed the stall'd cauf!" But he said till him, "Bairn! thou art aye wi' me! and a' that is mine is thine! But it was richt we soud mak merry and rejoice; for he, thy brither, was deid, and cam back to life again; he had been tint, and was fund!"' 'A particular man was rich, and cleedit his sel wi' purple and fine linen, and enjoy'd his sel uncolie, ilka day. And a particular beggar-man, ca'd Lazarus, was sutten doon by his yetts, fu' o' sairs. And he was sair wussin he micht eat the mools that fell frae the rich man's buird; aye! e'en the dowgs cam and lickit his sairs. Noo, it cam aboot that the beggar-man dee't, and was carry't awa by the Angels, and laid in Abram's bosom. And forby, the rich man, too, dee't and was bury't. And in hell he raised his een, bein noo in torments, and sees Abra'm far awa, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he, cryin oot, said "Faither Abra'm! hae mercie on me, and send ye Lazarus, sae as he may pit the tip o' his fing'er in watir, and cule my tongue; for I am in anguish in this lowe!" But Abra'm said, "Bairn! ca' ye to min' that ye gat a' yere gude things i' yere lifetime; and Lazarus the ill things: and noo he is at rest, and ye are in sair pyne. And forby, atween us and you an unco void has been set; that thae wha wad gang ower frae here to you, canna be able; nor thae frae you till us canna come ben!" Than he said, "I entreat ye than, faither! that ye wad send him to my faither's hoose; For I hae fyve brethren; that he may bear testimonie to them, that they come-na intil this place o' dool!" Abra'm says till him, "They hae Moses and the Prophets; lat them hear them!" But he says, "Na, faither Abra'm! but gin ane gaed to them frae the deid, they wull repent them!" But he said till him, "Gif to Moses and the Prophets they tak nae tent, naither wull they be perswadit e'en by ane that raise frae the deid!"' As they led him awa, they claucht hauds o Simon, a man frae Cyrene, at wis comin in frae the kintra, an gart him gang ahent Jesus cairriein his cross on his shuither. A fell thrang o fowk fallowt him, amang them some weimen at wis baetin their breists an makkin a maen for him. Jesus turnt tae them an said, 'Murn-na for me, dauchters o Jerusalem: murn for yoursels an your childer; for, tent my wurds, the days is comin whan they will be sayin, "Happie the wuman at is barren, ay! happie the wame at ne'er buir bairn an the breists at ne'er gae milk." Than, tae, they will begin tae say tae the hills, "Faa on abuin us, an tae the knowes, "Kivver us owre." For gif they dae siclike wi the tree at is green an growthie, what will be dune wi the tree at is wallowt an deid?' Ither twa wis led out tae be execute for crimes alang wi him; an whan they cam tae the place caa'd the Hairn-Pan, they crucified him there, an wi him the twa ill-daers, the tane on his richt, an the tither on his left. Jesus said, 'Faither, forgie them, for they kenna what they ar daein.' Syne the sodgers cinist caivels an hainfed his cleadin amang them. The fowk stuid by luikin on, an een the Councillors geckit at him: 'He saufed ithers,' said they; 'lat him sauf himsel, gif he is God's Messiah, the Choised Ane!' The sodgers, tae, hed their jamph at him, comin up an offerin him sour wine, an sayin, 'Gif ye ar the King o Jews, sauf yoursel!' There wis a plaicard abuin his heid wi the wurds: THIS IS THE KING O JEWS. Ane o the ill-daers at hang there jeered him, sayin, 'Arna ye the Christ? A-weill, sauf yoursel, an hiz forbye!' But the ither ill-daer challenged him: 'Ar ye no fleyed een o God,' said he, 'whan ye ar dreein the same duim as him? An a juist duim it is for hiz twa, at is but gettin our sairin for things at we hae dune: but this ane hesna dune ocht wrang!' Syne he said tae Jesus, 'Hae mind on me, Jesus, whan ye come intil your Kingdom'; an Jesus answert, 'Atweill, I tell ye, this day ye s' be wi' me in Paradise.' It wis about twal hours, an the licht o the sun failed, an it mirkit owre the haill laund till the mids o the efternuin, at whilk hour the courtain i the Temple screidit atwa. Than Jesus cried wi a loud stevven, 'Faither, intil thy haunds I commit my spirit'; an wi that he souched awa. Whan the captain o the gaird saw what hed happent, he gae glorie tae God, an said, 'Trowth an atweill, yon wis a guid man!' Aa the crouds o fowk at hed come thegither tae see the sicht, nou at aathing wis by, gaed their waas hame, strickin themsels on their breists for dule. But aa his friends, an the weimen at hed fallowt him frae Galilee, bade staundin whaur they war, a guid gate aff, luikin on at aathing. The man that cam i' the mirk, and gaed awa i' the licht. Christ maun wax, John maun wane. Thar was ane o' the Pharisees, by name Nicodemus; and in authoritie amang the Jews. An he cam i' the mirk o' the nicht to Jesus, and quo' he, 'Maister! we a ken ye are a Teacher frae God; for nane coud do sic wunner-works as ye do, gin God warna wi' him!' Jesus said till him, 'Truly say I t'ye, gin a man be-na born again, his e'en sal never see God's Kingdom!' Quo' Nicodemus, 'But hoo's a man to born in eild? Maun he return till his mither's womb, and be born ower again?' But Jesus spak: 'Truly, truly say I t'ye, Gin a man be-na watir-born and Spirit-born, he'se no come intil God's Kingdom! And aye that whilk is born o' the flesh is itsel flesh, and that whilk is born o' the Spirit is spirit. Mak nae ferlie o' my words, "Ye maun be born again!" The wind blaws whaur it wull, and ye hear the sough o't, but canna ken whaur it comes frae, nor whaur it gangs tae: sae is ti wi' ane born o' the Spirit.' Nicodemus says till him, 'Hoo can siccan a thing be?' Quo' Jesus till him, 'Can ye be a Maister o' Isra'l, and ken-na thir things? Truly, truly say I t'ye, we speak what we ken, and bear witness o' oor ain een; and ye winna hear us. Gin I hae tauld ye things o' the yirth, and ye winna hae them, wull ye lippen my word anent things o' Heeven? And nae man has e'er gane up Aboon, but he that cam doon frae Aboon the Son o' Man, wha bides Aboon. And like as Moses i' the wilderness heized up the serpent, sae maun the Son o' Man be liftit heigh; That a' wha lippen till him soudna dee, but hae Life for aye! For God sae lived the warld as to gie his Son, the only-Begotten Ane, that ilka ane wha lippens till him sudna dee, but hae Life for aye. For God sent-na his Son intil the warld to bring condemnation on't, but that raither the warld micht be saved by him. And ane that lippens him isna hauden guilty; but ane wha winna lippen him is judged guilty e'en noo; for he hasna lippened to the Son o' God, the only-begotten Ane. And here is the sentence he drees: that licht beams on the warld, and men lo'e the mirk and no the licht; for that their deeds are wrang. For ilka ane that follows ill hates the licht, and comes- na till't; jalousin that his ill deeds wull be seen. But the man wha has the truth seeks the licht, that a' his deeds may be plainly seen, that they are dune i' the pooer o' God.' Lazarus Frae Bethanie Syne Lazarus, the brither o Mary an Martha, failed badly, an his sisters sent wurd tae Jesus. Efter twa days, Jesus said tae his disciples, 'Oor freend Lazarus sleeps; I maun gang an wauken him oot o his sleep!' Than quo the disciples, 'Lord, gin he sleeps, he maun be on the mend!' But Jesus telt them straucht-forrit, 'Lazarus is deid. Nane-the-less, let us gang til him'. Whan Jesus cam, he fund that Lazarus had been i' the tomb for fower days. An monie o the Jews had come oot til Martha an Mary tae condole wi them ower thair brither. Martha said tae Jesus, 'Lord, gin ye had been here, ma brither widna hae dee'd. An e'en yit I ken that whitiver ye will speir o God, God will gie ye'. Jesus said tae her, 'Yer brither sall rise aince mair!' Martha quo tae him, 'I ken hoo he sall rise agin at the resurrection on the hindmaist day'. Jesus telt her, 'I am the resurrection an the life! Wha lippens on me sall dee nae mair. Dae ye trow this?' 'Aye Lord,' she said tae him, 'I trow ye are God's son, wha wis tae come intil the warld.' Whan she had said this, she caa'd her sister Mary, sayin, 'The Maister is here an is seekin ye!' Whan Mary heard this she rase wi haste an gaed til him. The Jews wha war in the hoose tae condole wi her, followit efter, sayin amang thairsels, 'She gangs til the tomb tae murn'. Syne Mary cam til whaur Jesus wis an lowtit doon at his feet, sayin tae him, 'Lord, gin ye had been here ma brither widna hae dee'd'. Whan Jesus saw her greetin, an the Jews wha cam wi her aa weepin sair, he had unco pitie in his hert an wis fu' o distress. 'Whaur hae ye laid him doon?' he speired, an they said tae him, 'Lord, come awa an see!' Jesus beguid tae weep. The Jews saw this an said, 'See hoo he luvit Lazarus'. Than Jesus cam til the tomb an a grete stane wis thair ower it. But Jesus said, 'Tak ye awa that stane!' Martha minded him, 'Lord, by noo the corp will be foul an stinkin, for he has been fower days in the tomb!' Jesus said, 'Did I no say tae ye that gin ye wid trow in me, ye wid see the glorie o God?' So they tuik awa the stane an Jesus liftit up his een tae Hevin an said, 'Faither! I thank ye that ye did hear me. I ken that ye aye hear me; but it wis for the sake o aa the folk staunin here that I said it, so that they micht ken that ye did send me. Whan he said this, he cried oot wi a lood voice, 'Lazarus! Come furth!' The deid man cam furth, bund haun an fit in graif-claes, an his face bund roon wi a claith. Jesus said, 'Lowsen him an lat him gang hame'. The sodgers o the garrison, wi their Cornel an the Jewish Temple Gairds, nou grippit Jesus, siccart his haunds, an tuik him til Annas. They brocht him til Annas first, because he wis guid- faither tae Caiaphas, the Heid-Priest that year - the same Caiaphas at hed counselt the Jews it wad sair them best at ae man suid die for the haill fowk. Jesus wis fallowt bi Simon Peter an anither disciple. This disciple wis acquant wi the Heid- Priest, an he gaed intil the yaird o the pailace alang wi Jesus, but Peter bade staundin thereout at the door. Belyve the ither disciple, him at wis acquant wi the Heid-Priest, gaed out an, efter twa-three wurds wi the janitress, brocht Peter inbye. The servan-lass, - the janitress, like - said tae Peter, 'Ye'll no be ane o this man's disciples, tae, na?' 'No me,' said he. The servans an Temple Gairds hed kennelt an ingle an war staundin beikin forenent it, for it wis cauldrif; an Peter stuid wi them an beikit an aa. The Heid-Priest quastint Jesus anent his disciples an his teachin. 'I hae spokken fair out tae the haill warld,' Jesus answert: 'aa my teachin hes been in synagogues an the Temple; ne'er said I ocht in hidlins. What for div ye speir at me? Speir at them at hes hard me what I tellt them; they ken what I said.' Whan he said that, ane o the Temple Gairds lent him a haffit wi his luif, sayin, 'Wad ye answer the Heid-Priest that gate?' 'Gin I spak ill the nou,' said Jesus, 'tell the Court what ill I said: but gin I spak weill, what for div ye clour me?' Annas than sent him awa, ey bund, tae Caiaphas the Heid- Priest. Simon Peter wis ey staundin outbye beikin himsel at the fire. Sae they said til him, 'Ye'll be ane o his disciples, tae, na?' But he disavoued him: 'No me,' said he. Ane o the Heid- Priest's servans at wis sib tae the man at Peter sneddit his lug said, 'Did I no see ye i the gairden wi him?' But Peter disavoued him aince mair; an straucht a cock crew. I the first o the day they cairriet Jesus frae Caiaphas tae the Governor's Pailace. But they gaedna inbye themsels, for that wad fyled them an hendert them tae eat the Passowre. Sae Pilate cam out tae them. 'What chairge hae ye again this man?' he speired. 'An he wisna a fautor,' they answert, 'we wadna haundit him owre tae ye. 'Tak him yoursels, an try him bi your ain Law, 'said Pilate. But the Jews answert, 'It is no leisome for us tae pit onie-ane tae daith.' Sae answert they because what Jesus hed said anent the daith he wis tae die buid come true. Pilate than gaed back intil the Pailace an gait bring Jesus afore him. 'Ar ye the King of Jews?' he speired at him. 'Ar ye sayin that at your ain haund,' said Jesus, 'or hae they spokken tae ye anent me?' 'Am I a Jew?' said Pilate. 'It is your ain kintramen an the Heid-Priests at hes haundit ye owre tae me. What hae ye dune?' 'My Kindgom,' Jesus answert, 'isna o this warld. Gin my Kingdom hed been o this warld, my sodgers wad be fechtin tae haud me out o the grips o the Jews. But na, my Kingdom belangsna this warld.' 'A-weill, ye ar a king, than?' said Pilate. 'Ye hae said it,' Jesus answert. 'It wis een for this I wis born an cam intil the warld - tae beir witness tae the trowth.' 'What is trowth?' said Pilate. An wi that he gaed outbye again tae the Jews an said tae them, 'I finnd nae faut in him. Ye hae a custom at I suid liberate ae man for ye at the Passowre. Is it your will at I suid liberate the King o Jews?' But they raired out again, 'No him! BarAbbas!' BarAbbas wis a reiver. Pilate nou tuik Jesus an gart leash him. The sodgers than plettit a wreathe wi thorn-rysses an pat it on his heid an cled him in a purple mantille, efter whilk they made a ploy o coming up til him wi a 'Hail, the King o Jews', an syne lendin him a halfit wi their luifs. Belyve Pilate gaed out aince mair an said tae them, 'Luik, I am bringin him out tae ye tae lat ye see I finnd nae faut in him.' Jesus than cam out, weirin the wreathe o thorn-rysses an the purple mantille, an Pilate said, 'See, here he is!' At the sicht o him the Held-Priests an Temple Gairds raired out, 'Tae the cross, tae the cross wi him!' 'Tak him an crucifie him yoursels,' said Pilate; 'I finnd nae faut in him.' 'We hae our ain Law,' the Jews answert, 'an bi hit he suid be pitten tae daith for haudin out tae be the Son o God.' Whan Pilate hard them say that, he wis the mair afeared, an he gaed back intil the Pailace an said tae Jesus, 'Wha ar ye?' But Jesus answert him nane. 'Will ye no speak tae me?' said Pilate. 'Div ye no ken I hae the pouer tae liberate ye, an the pouer tae cause crucifie ye?' 'Ye wadna hae nae pouer owre me ava,' said Jesus, 'an ye hedna been gien it frae abuin, an that maks him at pat me intil your haunds mair tae wyte nor ye ar. Efter that Pilate wis for settin him free, but the Jews raired an better raired, 'Gin ye set this man free, ye ar nae friend o Caesar's; ilkane at hauds out tae be a king is settin himsel up again Caesar!' Whan he hard what they war sayin, Pilate brang Jesus furth an sat doun on the juidgement-sait i the place caa'd 'The Plainstanes' - Gabbatha, i the Aramaic. It wis the day afore the Passowre, an the time wis about twal hours, less or mair. Syne he said tae them, 'Luik, here is your king.' But they raired out, 'Tak him awa, take him awa! Tae the cross wi him!' 'Wad ye hae me crucifie your king?' said Pilate. 'We hae nae king binna Caesar,' the Held-Priests answert. Pilate than haundit Jesus owre tae be crucified. Ande in aan day of the wolk Marie Magdalene com airlie to the graue, quhen it was yit mirk. And scho saw the staan mouet away fra the graue. Tharfor scho ran, and com to Symon Petir, and to ane vther discipile, quham Jesus luvit, and sais to thame, Thai haue takin the Lord fra the graue, and we wate nocht quhare thai haue laid him. Tharfore Petir went out, and that ilk vthir discipile, and thai com to the graue. And thai twa ran togiddir, and the ilk vthir discipile ran before Petir, and com first to the graue. And quhen he lowtit, he saw the schetis liand, neuirtheles he entrit nocht. Tharfor Symon Petir com followand him, and he entrit into the graue, and he saw the schetis laid, And the sudarie that was on his hede, nocht laid with the schetis, bot be itself wympilit into aan place. Tharfore than the ilk discipile that com first to the graue, entrit, and saw, and beleuet. For thai knew nocht yit the scripture, that it behuvit him to ryse agane fra deid. Tharfore the discipilis went agane to thame self. Bot Marie stude at the graue without furth wepand. And the quhile scho wepit, scho bowit hir, and beheld furth into the graue; And saw twa angelis sittand, in quhite, aan at the hede and aan at the feet, quhare the body of Jesu was laid. And thai say to hir, Woman, quhat wepis thou? Scho said to thaim, For thai haue takin away my lorde, and I wate nocht quhare thai haue laid him. Quhen scho had said thir thingis, scho turnit bakwart,and saw Jesu standand, and wist nocht that it was Jesus. Jesus sais to hir, Woman, quhat wepis thou? quham sekis thou? Scho gessand that he was a gardinare, sais to him, Sir, gif thou has takin him vp, say to me quhare thou has laid him, and I sal tak him away. Jesus sais to hir, Marie. Scho turnit, and sais to him Rabboni, that is to say, Maistir. Jesus sais to hir, Will thou nocht tuiche me, for I haue nocht yit ascendit to my fader; bot ga to my brether, and say to thame, I ga vp to my fader and to youre fadere, to my God and to youre God. Marie Magdalene com, telland to the discipilis, That I saw the Lord, and thir thingis he said to me. Tharfore quhen it was euen in that day, aan of the sabotis, and the yettis war closit quhare the discipilis war gaderit for drede of the Iewis, Jesus com and stude in the myddis of the discipilis, and he sais to thame, Pece to yow. And quhen he had said this, he schewit to thame handis and side; tharfore the discipilis ioyit, for the Lord was seen. And he sais to thame agane, Pece to you; as the fader send me, I send you. Quhen he had said this, he blew on thame, and said, Tak ye the Haligast; Quhais synnis ye forgefe, tha ar forgeuen to thame; and quhais ye withhald, tha ar withhaldin. Bot Thomas, aan of the xij, that is saide Didymus, was nocht with thame quhen Jesus com, Tharfore the vther discipilis said to him, We haue sene the Lord. And he said to thame, Bot I se in his handis the fixing of the nailis, and put my fingire into the place of the nailis, and put my hand into his side, I sal nocht beleue. And eftir viii dais agane his discipilis war within, ande Thomas with thame. Jesus com, quhile the yettis war closit, and stude in the myddis, and said, Pece to you. Eftirwart he sais to Thomas, Put in here thi fingire, and se myn handis, and put hiddire thi hand, and put into my side, and will thou nocht be vnbeleelfull, bot faithfull. Thomas ansuerd, and said to him, My Lord and my God. Jesus sais to him, Thomas, for thou as sene me, thou beleues; blessit be thai that saw nocht, and has beleuet. Saul, ragin like a wild beas', is laid haud o' by the Lord. Peter dis some o' the great warks o' Christ. And Saul, yet belchin oot threatenins and blude again the Lord's folk, gaed to the Heigh- priest, And craved frae him letters to Damascus, to the kirks, sae as, gin they faund ony o' 'The Way,' aither men or weemen, he soud fesh them in thrall to Jerusalem. But, as he gaed on, he cam narby Damascus; and a' o' a suddaintie, thar lowed aboot him a licht frae the lift, And, fa'in to the yirth, he heard a voice sayin till him, 'Saul! Saul! why are ye pursuin me?' And he said, 'Wha, my Lord, are ye?' While he answer't, 'I am Jesus that ye are pursuin'! It is hard for thee to kick against the jaggs!' And he, trimlin and ferlin, quo', 'Lord, what wud ye hae me dae?' And the Lord said till him, 'Rise ye, and gang ye intil the citie, and it sal be tell't ye what ye are to dae.' And the men wha war wi' him stude speechless, hearin a voice, but seein nae man. And Saul gat him up frae the grund, and whan he opened his een, he saw nane; sae, takin him by the haun, they airtit him intil Damascus. And he was thrie days wantin sicht, and naither did eat nor drink. Noo there was a disciple at Damascus, by name Ananias; and the Lord, in a vision, said till him, 'Ananias!' And quo' he, 'See! here am I, Lord!' And the Lord said till him: 'Arise, and gang awa to the street ca'd "Straucht," and speir in Judas' hoose for ane Saul by name' Tarsus; for ken! he is prayin; And he has seen in vision ane Ananias comin in, and pittin his hauns on him, that he soud win back his sicht.' But said Ananias, 'Lord! by a hantle o' folk hear I o' this man; and hoo muckle skaith he has dune to thy saunts at Jerusalem. And i' this vera place he has pooer frae the Heid-priests to bind a' thae that seek thy name.' But the Lord says to him, 'Gang yere ways; for a favored vessel is this ane to me, for the bearin o' my name afore nations, and kings, and the sons o' Isra'l. For I wull schaw to him what unco things he maun dree for the sake o' my name. And Ananias gaed his ways, and cam intil the hoose: and layin hauns on him, says, 'Saul! Brither! The Lord-Jesus, that thou saw on the way here till - has bid me come, that ye micht hae yere sicht, and be fu' o' the Holie Spirit.' And at ance fell frae his een as it war scales; and he gat sicht and raise, and was bapteez't. And whan he had meat, he was revived. Than was Saul a wheen days wi' the believers that war at Damascus. And at ance, i' the kirks, he proclaimed Jesus, that he was God's Son. But they ferlied that heard him: and quo' they, 'Isna this the ane that made havoc o' them that socht this name in Jerusalem? And cam here, ettlin the same, that he micht tak them in bonds to the Held-priests?' But Saul gather't strenth the mair, and silenced the Jews that dwalt at Damascus, demonstratin that 'This Ane is the Messiah!' But, whan mair days war come and gane, the Jews colleagued thegither to slay him. Hoobeit, their colleaguin was made kent to Saul. And they gairdit the ports day and nicht to kill him. Than the disciples took him at nicht, and loutit him doon ower the wa' in a creel. And whan he was come the lenth o' Jerusalem, he ettled to join his sel to the disciples; but they war a' fley't o' him, and jaloused that he was a fause ane. But Barnabas tuik him, and brocht him to the Apostles, and tell't them hoo, gaun his gate, he saw the Lord, and that he spak till him; and hoo Saul had spoken bauldly at Damascus, in Jesus' name. And he was ane wi' them: gaun in and oot at Jerusalem. Christ's folk maun do as Christ dis; the warld is lookin on! I entreat ye, than, brethren, by the mercies o' God, that ye render yersels as a leevin, holie, weel-pleasin offeran to God-a proper, rational service. And no to be conform to this warld, but to be transformed by the renewin o' yere mind, that ye may pit to the prufe what is God's gude, and perfete, and acceptable wull. For, say I, by the favor gien to me, to ilka ane amang ye, no to be thinkin ower muckle o' his sel, ayont what he soud think o' his sel, but to think o' his sel discreetly; e'en as God gied to ilka ane his portion o' faith. For, e'en as in ae body we hae mony pairts, but a' o' the pairts hae-na the same duty. Sae we, the mony, are a ae body in Christ; but allenarlie are pairts ane o' anither. Noo, haein gifts by favor, and gifts differan accordin to the favor gien till us-gin it be prophecie, lat it be i' the proportion o' faith; Or service, i' the service; or he that teaches, i' the teachin; Or an exhorter, i' the exhortin; he wha gies, lat him gie in aefauldness; he that leads, to lead tentilie; he that schaws mercie, to do it blythely. Love withoot hypocrisy, scunnerin at a' that is evil; haudin fast to a' that is gude. In britherly love schaw tender affection ane till anither; in giean honor, surpassin ane anither. In yere actions no slothfu' in yere spirit fervent; to the Lord fu' o' service; In hope rejoicin; in trouble lang-tholin; in prayer perseverin; Wi' the needs o' saunts haein fellowship; in hospitality aye active. Gie blessins to persecutors - blessins, and no curses. Rejoice wi' the rejoicin, and greet wi' the tearfu'. Ilk ane to anither seek the same thing; no seekin heigh things, but forgatherin wi' lowly things. Be-na wyss i' yere ain conceit. Return ill for ill to nane; provide things honorable afore a' men. Gin it be possible, as far as it lies in you, wi' a' men be at peace. No seekin vengeance, beloved; but gie place to anger; for it is putten-doon, 'To me belangs vengeance; I wull repay, says the Lord. Gin yere enemy hung'er, feed him; gin he be drouthie; gie him drink; for, sae doin, ye sal heap coals o' fire in his heid.' Be-na owercome wi' ill; but owercome ye ill wi' gude. The saunt is a gude citizen; and walks i' the licht. Lat ilka saul submit itsel to the protection o' the public authoritie. For thar is nae authoritie but by God; thae existin, exist by God. Sae he that sets his sel again the authoritie sets his sel again the ordinance o' God: and they that oppose sal receive condemnation. For rulers are-na a fear to gude warks, but to the ill. But wad ye no be fley't o' the authoritie? Div ye that whilk is gude, and ye sal hae praise o' the same. For he is God's servant t'ye, for that whilk is gude. But gin aiblins ye are doin ill, hae fear; for he disna cairry the sword for nocht. For God's servant is he, punishin wi' wrath him wha practeeses ill. And sae thar is a need o' submittin yersels, no only on accoont o' the wrath, but eke on accoont o' conscience. For sae pey ye tribute as weel: for God's ceevil servants are they, takin tent to this vera thing. Render, than to a' their dues; tribute to wham tribute; tax to wham tax; fear to wham fear; honor to wham honor. Awe nae man ocht, save love to ane anither; for he wha lo'es the ither fills up the Law. Thus: 'Ye sanna commit adultery; Ye sanna commit murder; Ye sanna steal; Ye sanna covet'; and gin thar be ony ither commandment, it is summed up i' this word, namely: 'Ye sal lo'e yere neebor as yer sel!' Love to ane's neebor works nae ill; love tharfor, is the pith o' the Law. And, kennin the time, that it is an 'oor e'en noo for us to wanken oot o' sleep: for noo is oor salvation narer-haun than whan we first believed: The nicht is far gane; the dawin comes on. Pit we awa, than, the warks o' darkness, and lat us tak the wapins o' licht! Lat us work, honorably, as in the licht o' day: no in bruilzies and druckenness, no in lewdness and wantonness, no in castins-oot and envyin. But pit ye on the Lord Jesus Christ; and hae nae trokin wi' the flesh and its corrupt desires. Gin I speak wi the tungs o men an angels, but hae nae luve i my hairt, I am no nane better nor dunnerin bress or a ringing cymbal. Gin I hae the gift o prophecie, an am acquent wi the saicret mind o God, an ken aathing ither at man may ken, an gin I hae siccan faith as can flit the hills frae their larachs gin I hae aa that, but hae nae luve i my hairt, I am nocht. Gin I skail aa my guids an graith in awmous, an gin I gie up my bodie tae be brunt in aiss gin I een dae that, but hae nae luve i my hairt, I am nane the better o it. Luve is patientfu; luve is couthie an kind; luve is nane jailous; nane sprosie; nane bowdent wi pride; nane mislaired; nane hame-drauchtit; nane toustie. Luve keeps nae nickstick o the wrangs it drees; finnds nae pleisur i the ill wark o ithers; is ey liftit up whan truith dings lies; kens ey tae keep a caum souch; is ey sweired tae misdout; ey howps the best; ey bides the warst. Luve will ne'er fail. Prophecies, they s' een be by wi; tungs, they s' een devaul; knawledge, it s' een be by wi. Aa our knawledge is haufiin; aa our prophesiein is hauflin: but whan the perfyte is comed, the onperfyte will be by wi. In my bairn days, I hed the speech o a bairn, the mind o a bairn, the thochts oa bairn, but nou at I am grown manmuckle, I am throu wi aathing bairnlie. Nou we ar like luikin in a mirror an seein aathing athraw, but than we s' luik aathing braid i the face. Nou I ken aathing haufiinsweys, but than I will ken aathing as weill as God kens me. In smaa: there is three things bides for ey: faith, howp, luve. But the grytest o the three is luve. A' aboot the Risin-again: mair here nor in a' the lave o' the Word. It is ane o' Paul's special messages frae the Lord till us. Noo, I mak kent t'ye, brethren, the Joyfu'-message whilk I mysel spak till ye, whilk eke ye received, and in whilk eke ye staun. And throwe whilk ye are saved, gin ye haud siccar the word I tell't ye, in whilk I spak till ye the Joyfu'-message; gin ye hae-na lippened in vain! For I deliver't till ye, the first thing, hoo that Christ dee't for oor sins, as said i' the Scripturs; And that he was bury't; and that he has been raised on the third day, as said the Scripturs; And that he schawed his sel to Peter; eftir, to the Twal. Eftir that he schawed his sel to mair nor fyve hunder brethren at ance; the feck o' them remainin till noo, but a wheen are faun asleep. Eftir that he schawed his sel till James; and eftir, till a' the Apostles; And last o' a', as to the untimely birth - e'en to me! For I am but the least o' the Apostles, wha am-na fit to be ca'd an Apostle, for that I persecutit the Kirk o' God. But by God's favor I am what I am: and his favor to me wasna made vain; but, mair aboundin than they a' was I in toil: hoobeit, it wasna I, but God's favor wi' me. Sae, gin it be I or they, sae we preach, and sae ye lippen'd. Noo, gin Christ be proclaimed, as bein risen frae 'mang the deid, hoo say a wheen amang ye that 'Thar is nae Risin-frae-the-deid?' But, gin 'Risin-frae-the-deid thar be nane,' than no e'en Christ has been raised! And gin Christ hasna been raised, oor preachin, at last, is vain; and yere believin is a' vain! And mair: we are schawn to be fause-witnesses o' God; for we bure witness o' God that he raised Christ; wham he raised-na, gin the deid be-na raised! For gin the deid are-na raised, Christ raise-na! And gin Christ raise-na, yere faith is a' in vain; ye are yet in yere sins! And thae, too, wha fell asleep in Christ, perish't! Gin we hae but hopit in Christ in this life alane, we are o' a' men maist to be pitied! But noo, Christ has been raised frae 'mang the deid, a first-frute o' them wha are faun asleep! For sin' throwe a man cam death, throwe a man comes eke the Risin-frae- the-deid. For as in Adam a' dee, sae in Christ sal a' be made leevin. But ilk ane followin in his proper place: Christ, a first-frute; than they wha are Christ's, at his comin: Eftirhaun, than the end - whane'er he delivers up the Kingdom to God the Faither; whan a rule and authoritie is dune awa' wi'. For he maun rule till whatna time as he has putten a' his faes aneath his feet. The last fae that is dune awa' wi', is Death. 'For a' things are to be putten aneath his feet.' But whaur ane says, 'A' things hae been putten-aneath,' it is plain that thar is an exception o' the Ane wha pat a' things aneath him. But, whan a' things are putten-aneath him, than sal the Son his sel become subject to the Ane wha made a' things subject till him - that the Godheid may be a' in a'! Or else, what is for them that are bapteez't for the deid? Gin the deid be-na raised ava, why than are they bapteez't for the deid? And why soud we be rinnin intil danger ilka 'oor? Ilk day I am deein, brethren - by a' the gloryin whilk I hae ower you in Christ Jesus oor Lord! Gif, like a man, I battled wi' wild beass in Ephesus, what is the profit to me? Gif the deid are-na to be raised, 'Lat us eat and drink! for the morn we dee!' Dinna be taein-in: 'Ill company corrupts gude conduct.' Wauken ye to soberness, richtously; and sin-na; for a hantle ken-na God. To yere shame speak I. But some may speir, 'Hoo are the deid to be raised? and in whatna body are they to appear?' Doitit ane! what seed, e'en ye saw, isna made leevin till it dee: And what ye saw - no the bouk that sal come to be div ye saw but a bare pickle: be it wheat, or ony o' the lave. Hoobeit, God gies it a bonk e'en as he has been pleased; and to ilk o' the seeds its richt bonk. A' flesh isna ae kind o' flesh; but ane is flesh o' men, anither flesh o' beass, anither flesh o' fowls, and anither o' fishes. And thar are heevenly bodies, and yirthly bodies. But ae kind o' glorie is the heevenly, and anither kind that o' the yirthly. Thar is ae glorie o' the sun, and anither kind o' glorie o' the mune, and yet anither glorie o' the stams. Nay, thar is a differ, starn frae starn! And sae i' the Risin-frae-the-deid. It is sawn in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: It is sawn in abasement: it is raised in glorie: it is sawn in fecklessness; it is raised in pooer. It is sawn a nateral body; it is raised a spiritual body. Gin thar is nateral body, thar is eke a spiritual body! And sae it is putten-doon, 'The first man, Adam, becam a leevin bein.' But the last Adam, a life-giean Spirit. Hoobeit, the spiritual cam-na first, but the nateral: eftir that the spiritual: The first man, o' the yirth, yirthly; the second man o' heeven. Like as the yirthly ane, siclike are they that are yirthly; and like as the heevenly ane, siclike are they that are heevenly. And e'en as we bure the likeness o' the yirthly ane, we sal e'en bear the likeness o' the heevenly ane. But I say this, brethren, that flesh and blude canna inherit God's Kingdom; nor is corruption to inherit holiness. Tak tent! I unfauld till ye a riddle: We sanna a' fa' keep; but a' sal be cheenged, In a moment, in a blink, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet sal soond, and the deid sal be raised, incorruptible; and we'se be cheenged. For this corruptible-man maun needs cleed itsel wi' incorruption, and this mortal cleed itsel wi' immortality. Sae whane'er this corruptible has cleedit itsel wi' incorruption, and this mortal has cleeded itsel wi' immortality, than sal come aboot the word putten-doon, 'Death was victoriously swallow'd up!' 'Whaur, o Death! is yere victory? Whaur, o Death, is yere sting?' Noo, Death's sting is sin; and sin's pooer the Law: But God hae thanks, wha gies us victory throwe oor Lord Jesus Christ! Sae than, brethren beloved, be aye abidin, no to be moved; unco aboundin i' the Lord's wark aye; kennin yere toil isna in vain in the Lord. I say it again: lat nane o ye tak me for a fuil; or, gin ye maun, syne tak the gate ye wad wi onie ither fuil, an lat me hae my bit voust like the lave. Whan I blaw an blowst at sic a rate, I am no sayin ocht at the Lord hes bidden me say, but juist blawin like a fuil. But sin monie ithers is blawin o their warldlie fores, I maun een hae my blaw an aa. Ye ar that wyss, ye haena ill tholin lulls. Deed no, ye thole onie-ane at maks snuils o ye, herries ye out o houss an hauld, taks ye in his girns, lairds it owre ye, an gies ye a rap i the jaw! I think shame tae say it, but I hae wantit the smeddum tae dae siclike. Still an on - I am speakin again as a fuil-I hae nae mair need tae be blate nor onie ither man. Ar they Hebrews? Sae am I. Ar they Israelites? Sae am I. Come they o Abraham? Sae div I. Ar they ministers o Christ? I am horn-daft tae say it, but I am a minister o Christ faur mair nor them. I hae trauchelt an tyauved bi faur mair, been jyled bi faur affener, haen a fell hantle mair flaggins - ay, an been ithin a haundbreid o deith, monie's the time an aft! I hae haen the nine- an-thertie straiks frae the Jews five times; three times I hae been beaten wi wands; aince I hae been staned; thrice I hae been shipwrackit; ae time I wis a haill nicht an day i the sea. I hae been constant on the road, an monitime hae I been in danger - danger frae rivers, danger frae rubbers, danger frae Jews, danger frae haithens, danger in touns, danger i the muirs, danger on the sea, danger amang fauss brether. I hae trauchelt sair an been dung wi tire an monitime wantit sleep the haill nicht throu; baith hunger an thrist hae I dree'd an monitime gane ithout mait an been cauld an ill-happit. By an atowre the lave, I hae my hairt's care for aa the kirks tae dwang me ilka day. Wha's walk conscience e'er gies him fash, an I amna fashed an aa? Wha is led agley, an my hairt gangsna alowe? Sae, gin there is tae be voustin, I s' voust o aathing at shaws hou walk I am. The God an Faither o the Lord Jesus, him at is blissed for iver an ey, is witness at I liena. I the time bygane ye kentna God, an war slaves tae gods at isna nae gods ava: but nou at ye hae gotten on tae ken God, or raither tae be kent bi God, hou is it ye ar seekin back tae the sairie, feckless spirit-pouers, an ar fain tae become their slaves aa owre again? Ye ar keepin halie days an months an saisons an years. I fear o ye: can it be I hae waired aa my trauchle on ye for nocht? Become ye like me, een as I becam like ye, I prig ye, brether. I am no sayin at ye hae wranged me onie: deed, no! It wis owre the heid o a bodilie ail, as ye ken, at I preached the Gospel tae ye the first time: but for aa my complent wis ane at micht hae tempit ye tae lichtlie or ugg me, ye did naither the tane nor the tither, but gae me sic a walcome as ye wad hae gien an angel o God - ay, or Christ Jesus himsel! Sae happie an crouss as ye war i thae days! Troth, I s' warran ye wad howkit the een out o your heids, gin ye coud, an gien me them. What, than, hes comed owre ye? Am I become your onfriend for tellin ye the truith? Thir men is haudin up tae ye, but no out o guid: they want tae steik ye out o the Kirk tae hae ye haudin up tae them. Mind, I'm no sayin at it isna a guid thing tae hae fowk haudin up tae ye, an that at aa times, an no juist whan I am wi ye, my bairnies weill may I sae caa ye, for I am aince mair in sair grip wi ye, or Christ be formed ithin ye. Oh, gin I wis amang ye eenou, an coud speak anither gate til ye, for I am fair fickelt about ye! Tell me nou, ye at is sae fond tae be subjeck tae the Law, kenna ye what the Law says? It is written there at Abraham hed twa sons, ane bi a slave-lass, an the tither bi a freewuman. The son o the slave-lass is begotten as onie ither balm is begotten, but the son o the freewuman wis begotten as the efieck o a promise. There's a hodden meanin aneth that. The twa weimen is twa covenants. The tane o them wis gien furth frae Munt Sinai, an beirs childer at is slaves. That is Hagar, for Munt Sinai is hyne awa in Arabia, an she answers til the praisent Jerusalem, at is ey in bondage tae the Law wi her childer. But the Jervsalem abuin is free, an she is our mither. For it is written: Be mirkie an blythe, thou barren wuman at ne'er finish hame bairn, lilt wi joy, raisin loud thy stevven, thou at ne'erfaund birth-stoun; for monie is the bairns o her at hed nae marrow, monie mae nor the bairns o the waddit wife. Ye, brether, like Isaac, ar childer o the promise. But een as i thae days the son begotten as ither bairns is begotten misgydit the son begotten bi the wurkin o the Spirit, sae is it nou. But what says Scriptur? 'Castfurth the slave-lass an her son, for the son o the slave-lass sanna heir alang wi the son o the freewuman.' Sae, brether, we arna the childer o the slave-lass, but the childer o the freewuman. Christ set us free at we micht bruik freedom: staund steive, than, an pitna your craigs again anunder the yoke o bondage. Hairken me, Paul, as I tell ye this: gin ye hae yoursels circumcised, ye s' get nae guid o Christ. Aince mair I warnish iIkane at hes himsel circumcised at he is bund tae keep the haill a the Law. Ye ar twined frae Christ, ye at wad be juistified bi the Law; ye ar forfautit an deprived o grace. For, for our pairt, it is faith an the wark o the Spirit at we lippen on tae bring us the juistification at we howp for an wait on wi greinin. For whan a man is in Christ Jesus, it maksna an he be circumcised or no: the ae thing at maitters is faith wurkin warks o luve. Ye war comin speed; wha marred ye frae obayin the truith? The fair-farran rede at ye hairkent ne'er cam frae him at caa'd ye; an I'm wae tae mind hou 'it needs but a flowe o barm tae tove the haill daud o daich.' But I weill believe for aa i the Lord at ye will think the same gate as me. As for him at is pittin ye in a stir, he will een hae tae beir the hivvie juidgement o God, it maks nae odds wha he is. For mysel, brether, gin I am ey preachin circumcision, what for am I ey persecutit? An what is there, than, i the Cross for oniebodie tae reist at? Sall, but I wiss thae din-breeders amang ye may gang on an libb themsels! Be ye strang i' the Lord, and i' the pooer o' his micht! Pit ye on the hail graith o' God, sae as ye may be fit to staun again the wiles o' Sauton. For oor struggle isna again flesh and blude, but again the pooers, agatn the authorities, again the warld-rulers o' this mirkiness; again the spiritual hosts o' ill i' the lift. Whaur-for tak till ye the haill graith o' God, that ye be strang to withstaun i' the ill day; and, haein dune a' things, to staun. And sae staun! beltit aboot the mids wi' truth, and haein put on the prufe-coat o' holiness; And shod yere feet wi' the readiness o' the Gude-word o' Peace; Aud wi' a', takin up the shield o' faith, in whilk ye hae pooer to kep a' the lowin shafts o' the Ill-ane. And the heid-piece o' salvation tak ye; and the sword o' the Spirit, whilk is whatsoe'er God has spoken. Wi' a' prayer and pleadin, prayin aye i' the Spirit and watchin i' the same, wi' a' tholin and pleadin, for a' the saunts; And for me, that to me soud be glen utterance, that wi' freedom o' speech I may mak kent the Gude-word; For sake o' whiIk I am like an ambassador in a chain; that in sic behauf I may be bauld to speak, as I soud speak. Nou, faith is the warrantie o our howps, the pruif at things at downa be seen is rael. It wis for their faith at the men o auld is weill spokken o in Scriptur. Bi faith we ar insensed at the warld wis made bi God's Wurd, sae at aathing we see cam furth o things at downa be seen. Bi faith Abel offert up a better saicrifice tae God nor Cain, an we read at his gift wis acceppit, whilk is God's testimonie at he wis a richteous man; an efter he wis felled, he ey spak, throu faith. Because he hed faith, Enoch wis flittit frae the yird onpree'd deith; hilt nor hair o him wis seen, we ar tauld, because God hed flittit him. For witness is borne him in Scriptur at, afore he wis flittit, he hed pleised God, an wantin faith a man can nane pleise God; for him at comes tae God maun believe twa things - first, at he is; an, saicond, at he rewairds them at seeks him Bi faith Noah, whan wairned bi God o ills tae come, o whilk there wis ey nae kythin, tentit weill the warnishment an biggit an airk for the saufin o his houss-hauld. Throu his faith he duimed the warld an becam heir o the richteousness at comes o faith. Bi faith Abraham tentit the caa tae gae furth til the kintra at wis tae be his heirskip, an tuik the gate onkennin whaur he wis gaein til. Bi faith he sattelt the kintra promised him, an there dwalt as an outlan in a fremmit laund, wi naething tae caa a bidin but the tents at he skaired wi Isaac and Jaucob his coheirs i the promise; for his een wis stelled on the citie wi the siccar founds, the architeck an biggar o whilk is God. Bi faith een Sarah gat the pouer tae consave, by her bairntime an aa as she wis, because she trewed at God wad ne'er gang by his wurd; an sae o ae man, an him forfairn wi eild, there cam a stock as monie in nummer as the stairns i the cairrie or the grains o saund ontellin bi the lip o the sea. Thir aa died, as they hed lived, in faith. They died ithout gettin the things promised, but they hed seen them an hailsed them frae a lang gate awa, an awned at here on the yird they war outlans in a fremmit laund. Them at speaks that gate maks it plain at they ar seekin a kintra o their ain. Gif they hed been thinkin o the kintra they hed quat, they wadna wantit opportunities tae gang back til it. But the truith is at they ar greinin for a better-that is, a heivenlie-kintra. An sae God thinks nae shame tae be caa'd their God; he hes een a citie waitin them. Bi faith Abraham, whan God preived him, ofiert up Isaac: ay, him at hed gotten the promises wis ettlin tae offer up his ae son; him at hed been tauld, 'Bi Isaac thou s' hae the stock will be caa'd for thee.' God, he thocht til himsel, maun be able tae raise frae the deid; an get him back frae the deid he een did, in a mainner o speakin. Bi faith Isaac gae Jaucob an Esau his blissin, prayin for things at wis ey tae come. Bi faith Jaucob gae Joseph's twa sons his blissin at his wagang, an wurshipped God owre the heid o his rung. Bi faith Joseph, whan he wis slippin awa, spak o the outgaein o the Israelites frae Egyp, an gae commaunds anent his banes. Bi faith, whan Moses wis born, his parents wis dauntont nane bi the King's edick, but derned him three month, because they saw what a bonnie bairn he wis. Bi faith Moses, whan he wis grown manmuckle, wadna lat himsel be caa'd the son o Pharaoh's dachter. He choiced raither tae dree misgydin wi God's fowk nor bruik the pleisurs tae be gotten o sin for a weeock. I the warld's scorn o Christ he thocht he hed gryter walth nor aa the treisurs o Egyp could gie him, for his een wis stelled on the rewaird tae come. Bi faith he quat Egyp, an no in fear for the wraith o the King, for aathing there wis tae bide he bade, like ane at saw him at downa be seen. Bi faith he keepit the Passowre, an strinkelt the bluid on the doorcheeks an doorheids, at the Angel o Deith, whan he killed the flrstborn, micht hain the bairns o the Hebrews. Bi faith the Israelites gaed throu the Reid Sea as gin it war biggit laund, tho the Egyptians wis drouned, whan they socht tae dae the like. Bi faith the Israelites gart the waas o Jericho faa doun wi mairchin round them seiven days efter ither. Bi faith the hure Rahab escapit the ill end o the onbellevers, because she hed friendit an hairbourt the spies. What needs I say mair? I want the time tae lay doun the stories o Gideon, Barak, Samson, an Jephthah, o Dauvit, Samuil, an the Prophets. Throu faith they waured kinricks, ruled wi juistice, obteined the fulfilment o God's hechts, dittit the mous o lions, slockent the bensil o fire, wan awa frae the face o the swuird, frae mauchtless becam strang, kythed feckfu in weir, gart fremmit airmies turn an flee. Mithers o bairns at hed died gat them back again raised tae life. Ithers loot themsels be swabbelt tae deid raither nor mouband the wurd at wad free them, sae fain war they tae rise til a better life nor this. Ithers pree'd scornin an screingein - ay, een fetters an firmance! They war staned; they war sawn sindrie; - they war tairged -; they war felled bi straik o swuird. They gaed hither an yont, happit in pellets an gait-hides, misterfu, dwanged, ill-gydit. They war owre guid for this warld - an thair they gaed, wanderin owre the muirs an amang the hills, wi nae bield but weems an clifts i the grund! Nane o thir, atho they ar weill spokken o in Scriptur for their faith, gat what God hed promised: he wis een providin something better for us, because he wantitna them tae win tae perfyteness themlane Syne I saw at him at sat on the Throne huid a buik-row in his richt haund. It hed write on ilka side, an wis sealed wi seiven seals. An I saw an angel, stairk an strang, at wis cryin wi a loud stevven: 'Wha's wurdie til apen the Row an brak its Seals?' But there wis nae-ane in heiven or on the yird or aneth the yird docht apen the Row an luIk inside it. I fell ablirtin an cownin at there wis nae-ane tae be fund wurdie til apen the Row an luik inside it. But ane o the Elders said til me, 'Greitna: the Lion o Clan Judah, the Shuit o Dauvit, hes wan i the fecht; he will apen the Row an its Seals.' Syne atween the Fowr Baists about the Throne an the Elders I saw a lamb staundin 'at luikit as it hed been felled. He hed seiven horns an seiven een, whilk is the Seiven Spirits o God sent furth outowre the haill yird. He cam forrit an tuik the Buik-row out o the richt haund o him at sat on the Throne, an whan he hed taen it, the Fowr Baists an the Fowr- an-Twintie Elders fell doun afore him. Ilkane o them hed a hairp an a goulden bowl lip-fu o incense, whilk is the prayers o the Saunts, an they war singin a noo sang: 'Thou is wurdie til tak the Bulk an brak the Seals, because thou wis felled an wi thy bluid coft sowls for God out o ilka clan an leid, ilka peiple an nation, an made them a kinrick o priests til sair our God; an they sal ring owre the yird.' Syne in my vision I hard the voice o an ondeemous thrang o angels at stuid round the Throne, the Baists, an the Elders. There wis ten thousand times ten thousand an thousands upo thousands mair o them, an they war cryin wi a loud stevven: 'Wurdie is the Lamb at wis felled til receive pouer an walth an wisdom an micht an honour an glore an blissin!' An ilka creatit thing the lift an on the yird an aneth the yird an upo the sea, an aathing at is in them, I hard them cryin: 'Til him at sits on the Throne, an the Lamb, be blissin an honour an glore an dominion for iver an ey!' An the Fowr Baists said 'Amen'; an the Elders fell doun an wurshipped. A New Heeven and a New Yirth. The bonnie Bride o' Christ, wi' a' her pearlins and her jewels. And I saw a New Heeven and a New Yirth; for the first Heeven and the first Yirth war gane-by; and sea was thar nane. And the holie city, 'New Jerusalem,' saw I comin doon frae God oot o' Heeven, made ready as a bride buskit for her bridegroom And I heard a soondin voice oot o' Heeven, sayin, 'Lo! God's dwallin is wi'men, and he sal bide wi' them; and they sal be his folk, and God his ain sel sal be them! And he sal dicht a' tears frae their een; and Death sal be nae mair; nor dool, nor ootcry, nor pain sal be ony mair: for a' the auld things are gane-by!' And he that sat on the Thron, said, 'Lo! I mak a' things ower again!' And he says to me, 'Write; for thir words are leal and true!' And he said to me, 'It has come to be! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the forefront and the endin! I to ilka drouthie ane wull gie o' the waal-ee o' the Watir-o'- Life, freely. He that prevails has a' things for his heritage; and I sal be to him a God, and he sal be to me a bairn. But as to the dauntit anes, and the unbelievin, and the abominable, and blude-shedders, and lecherers, and eidol-worshippers, and a' leears, their pairt is in the loch that lowes wi' fire and brunstane, whilk is the second death.' And thar cam oot ane o the seeven Angels that had the seeven fiagons fu' o' the seeven last plagues and spak wi' me, sayin, 'Come awa'! I wull schaw ye the Bride, the wife o' the Lamb!' And he bure me awa' i' the Spirit till a mountain great and heigh, and airtit my een to the citie, the holie Jerusalem, loutin doon oot o' Heeven frae God; Haein the glorie o' God; and her glintin was like till a stane maist precious, as a jasper-stane, clear as crystal; Haein a wa' great and heigh; and had twal ports, and at the ports twal Angels:and names putten thar-on, whilk are the names o' the twal tribes o Isra'l.