The Bible


Ver-yms ard-voylley dhyts, O Hiarn, son t'ou er my hoiaghey seose: as cha vel oo er lhiggey da my noidyn dy ve mooaralagh harrym.

I will magnify thee, O Lord, for thou hast set me up: and not made my foes to triumph over me.


O Hiarn my Yee, deïe mee hood: as t'ou er my lheihys.

O Lord, my God, I cried unto thee: and thou hast healed me.


T'ou uss, Hiarn, er livrey m'annym veih'n oaie: t'ou er vreayll my vioys veih goll sheese gys ooig y vaaish.

Thou, Lord, hast brought my soul out of hell: thou hast kept my life from them that go down to the pit.


Gow-jee arraneyn-moyllee gys y Chiarn, O shiuish e nooghyn: as cur-jee booise da ayns cooinaghtyn jeh e chasherickys.

Sing praises unto the Lord, O ye saints of his: and give thanks unto him for a remembrance of his holiness.


Son cha vel e chorree farraghtyn agh meekey sooilley, as ayns y foayr echey ta bea: foddee trimshey farraghtyn son oie, agh ta boggey cheet 'sy voghrey.

For his wrath endureth but the twinkling of an eye, and in his pleasure is life: heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.


Ayns my staydoilys dooyrt mee, Cha bee'm dy bragh er my scughey: t'ou uss, Hiarn, jeh dty vieys, er n'yannoo my chronk cha lajer.

And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be removed: thou, Lord, of thy goodness hast made my hill so strong.


Hyndaa oo dt'eddin voym: as va mee seaghnit.

Thou didst turn thy face from me: and I was troubled.


Eisht deïe mish hood's, O Hiarn: as chossyn mee gys my Hiarn dy feer imlee.

Then cried I unto thee, O Lord: and gat me to my Lord right humbly.


Cre'n vondeish t'ayns my uill: tra hem sheese gys yn oaie?

What profit is there in my blood: when I go down to the pit?


Der y joan booise dhyt: ny jean eh soilshaghey dt'ynrickys?

Shall the dust give thanks unto thee: or shall it declare thy truth?


Clasht, O Hiarn, as jean myghin orrym: Hiarn, bee uss my er-coonee.

Hear, O Lord, and have mercy upon me: Lord, be thou my helper.


T'ou er hyndaa my hrimshey gys boggey: t'ou er choyrt jee'm my aanrit-sack, as er my choamrey lesh gennallys.

Thou hast turned my heaviness into joy: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness.


Shen-y-fa nee dy chooilley ghooinney mie goaill arrane jeh dty voylley fegooish skeeys: O my Yee, ver-yms booise dhyt son dy bragh.

Therefore shall every good man sing of thy praise without ceasing: O my God, I will give thanks unto thee for ever.