Saturday 18 November 2017

Mass readings in Scots: Thirty-third Sunday of the Year (Year A)

First reading
Proverbs 31: 10-13, 19-20, 30-31

A douce an' guid wumman--
Wha'll man' to get her for himsel?
For the worth o' her
Is far abune jewels, red-skinklin.
The hairt o' her ain guidman lippens her brawlie,
An' mony's the blessin she brings him;
It's guid that she daes him, an' nae ill ava,
A' the days o' her life.
She's gleg on the sairch baith for woo' an' for lint,
An' aye wi' her hauns is as eident as can be;
She keeps hersel thrang wi' the rock-an'-the-tow,
An' fu' cantie ower the spinnin-wheel.
But, for a' that, she's an open-hairtit body to the puir,
An', e'en to gangrels, she's kent to hae a raxin haun.
Crackin o' ane abune anither is ticklish wark,
An' bonnieness itsel is only for a gliff;
But a wumman wi' the fear o' the Lord
Is ane that canna be dawtit eneuch;
Lat a' her weel-daein, in this thing an' that,
Be putten doon clear to her credit,
An' sae lat the lave ken richtly aboot it,
Lat the lave o' folks ken hoo she ocht to be laudit.

[From The Wyse-Sayin's o' Solomon [The Book of Proverbs] by T Whyte Paterson; Alexander Gardner (Paisley) 1915 here]

Responsorial Psalm
Psalm 127 1-5

O blythe may ilk ane be, wi' dread o' the Lord;
wha gangs i' thae gates o' his ain:
Whan ye pree o' the wark o' yer han's;
fu' blythe sal ye be, an' fu' weel sal ye fen' yerlane.

Yer gudewife, like the fraughtit vine,
by the sconce o' yer houss sal stan';
yer weans, round about yer meltith-buird,
sal growe like the olive wands.

E'en sae, sae blythe sal the wight be,
wha lives in the dread o' the Lord.
The Lord sal blythe-bid ye frae Zioun;
an' on a' that 's guid in Jerus'lem,
ye sal leuk ilka day o' yer life.

[From Psalm 128, The Psalms: frae Hebrew intil Scottis P. Hately Waddell (1891) here]

Second reading
1 Thessalonians 5: 1-6

Bot, brether, of tymes and momentis ye nede nocht that I write to you. For ye you self wate deligentlie, that the day of the Lord sal cum, as a theef in the nycht. For quhen thai sal say pece is, and sickirnes, than suddane dede sal cum on thame, as dolour to a woman that is with child, and thai sal nocht eschape.

Bot, brether, ye ar nocht in mirknessis, that the ilk day as a theef tak you. For all ye ar the sonnis of licht, and sonnis of day; we ar nocht of nycht, nor yit of mirknessis. Tharfore slepe we nocht as vthir; bot wake we, and be we sobire.

[From The New Testament in Scots Murdoch Nisbet [c.1520] (1903) vol 2 here]

Gospel reading
Matthew 25: 14-30

[Jesus spak' this parable until his disciples:]

"For the kingdom o’ heaven is as a man gaein’ intil a far kintra, wha ca’d his ain servan’s, an’ gied until them his guids. An’ until ane he gied five talents, til anither twa, an’ til anither ane; til ilka man accordin’ til his ability; an’ straughtway teuk his journey. Syne he wha had gotten the five talents gaed, an’ coft an’ trocked wi’ that ilk, an’ made ither five talents. An’ likewaise he wha had gotten the twa, he alsua gainet tither twa. But he wha had gotten ane gaed an’ howket in the yird, an’ hidet his lord’s money. After a lang time the lord o’ thae servants cometh an’ counteth wi’ them. An’, behald, he wha had gotten five talents cam’ an’broucht ither five talents, sayin’, 'Lord, thou giedst until me five talents: behald, I hae gainet forbye them five talents mair.' His lord said until him, 'Weel dune, thou guid an’ faithfu’ servan’: thou hast been faithfu’ owre a few things, I will mak’ thee maister owre mony things; gang thou intil the joy o’ thy lord.' He alsua wha had gotten twa talents cam’ an’ said, 'Lord, thou giedst until me twa talents: behald, I hae gainet twa ither talents forbye them.' His lord said until him, 'Weel dune, guid an’ faithfu’ servan’: thou hast been faithfu’ owre a few things, I will mak’ thee maister owre mony things: gang thou intil the joy o’ thy lord.' Syne he wha had gotten the ae talent cam’ an’ said, 'Lord, I kent that thou art a nippit man, shearin’ whare thou hastna sawn, an’ gatherin’ whare thou hastna strinklet: an’ I was afear’t, an’ gaed an’ hidet thy talent in the yird: behald, there thou hast that whilk is thine ain.' His lord answer’t an’ said until him, 'Thou wicket an’ sleuthfu’ servan’, thou kennest that I shear whare I didna saw, an’ gather whare I haena strinklet:thou sudst therefore hae putten my money to the ockerers, an’ syne at my comin’ I sud hae gotten mine ain wi’ int’rest. Tak’ therefore the talent frae him, an’ gie it until him wha hath ten talents. For until ilka ane that hath sall be gien, an’ he sall hae rowth; but frae him wha hathna sall be taen awa e’en that whilk he hath. An’ cast ye the unprofitable servan’ intil outer mirkness: there sall be greetin’ an’ runchin’ o’ teeth.' "

[From The Gospel of St. Matthew, Translated Into Lowland Scotch, by George Henderson (1862) here]

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