Classic Poem

The II Psalme

Why doth the Heathin rage and rampe,
And peple murmur all in vane?
The kings on earth ar bandit plane
And princes ar conjonit in campe,
Aganst the Lord and Chryst ilk ane.
Come let our hands
Brek all thair bands,
Say they, and cast from us thair yoks.
Bot he sall evin
That duells in hevin
Laugh thame to scorne lyk mocking stoks.

In wraith then sall he speik thame till
And vex thame in his anger sore,
And say — I set my King (with glore)
On Sion Mount, my holy hill.
I will declair his will thairfoir
That is, that he
Hes said to me;
Thou are my Sone beloved ay,
Frome whome my Love
Sall not remove;
I haif begotten thee this day.

Ask thou of me, and thou sall haive
The Heathin to enherit haill,
And all the earth thou sall not faill
For thy possessioun to resaive.
Thy princely scepter sall prevaill;
For they sall feill
It made of steill,
To render thame thair just rewaird
Whairwith thou sall
Evin bruis thame all
In peces, lyk a potters shaird.

Be wyse, thairfor ye Kingis and heir.
Ye judges of the earth, I say,
Be leirnd and instructit ay.
Rejoyce and serve the Lord in feir
And kisse the Sone and him obey
Leist, when his yre
Sall burne as fyre,
Ye perish in the way and fall.
And sik as trust
In God most just
Sall happy be and blissid all.