[When rising from the bed of death.]

Poem by Joseph Addison, 1712

1 TRA irreem’s veih yn lhiabbee vaaish,
Laadit lesh atchirn mooar,
Sumnit kionfenish my Er-croo
O kys nee’m eisht gansoor.

2 Nish choud’s ta myghin, as pardoon,
Daue t’er y hon chyndaa!
Dy vel my annyrn eer er-creau,
Ec smooinaght er y traa!

3 Tra ne’oo, O Hiarn, gyn coodagh cheet,
Ayns ooashley ard as pooar,
Er rn’annyms soie ayns briwnys gyere,
O kys neern’s eisht gansoor?

4 O lhig dou lesh cree imlee brisht,
Keayney my pheccah traa,
Moghey ‘ve arryssagh ayns jeir
Scapail yn treihys vrâ.

5 Roish te ro.anrnagh, cur-my.ner
My hrimshey laa as oie;
As eaisht rish accan baaish my Hiarn,
Dy chur da’n trimmid cooie.

6 Cha beern’s ayns dooyt, dy gheddyn nish
Pardoon, son loght my yea,
Fys t’aym dy hur dty Vac hene baase,
Dy yannoo shickyr jeh.

When rising from the bed of death,
O’erwhelmed with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face,
O how shall I appear?

If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be sought,
My heart with inward horror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought;

When Thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclosed
In majesty severe,
And sit in judgment on my soul,
O how shall I appear?

But Thou hast told the troubled mind
Who does her sins lament,
The timely tribute of her tears
Shall endless woe prevent.

Then see the sorrow of my heart,
Ere yet it be too late;
And hear my Savior’s dying groans,
To give those sorrows weight.

For never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure,
Who knows Thine only Son has died
To make her pardon sure.