8 That's tae tha glorie o ma Faither, that ye'r brustin wi fruit, showin yersels tae be ma follaers.
In tha same wye, let yer licht shine afore iveriebodie, sae as the' wull see yer guid warks an gie glorie tae yer Faither ïn heiven.
But A tell ye: Love yer enemies an pray fer thaim that traits ye ïll,
Whan tha thrang saen thïs, the' wur fïllt wi wunnèrment; an the' gien glorie tae God fer giein sitchana thortie tae a man.
But love yer faes, dae guid an lenn, no hopin tae get oniethin bak; an yis wull hae great reward an wull be sinns o tha Maist Heich, fer he ïs kine tae tha ungratefu an tha wïckit.
An ïf ye love yin anither, tha hale warl wull see that ye'r ma follaers.”
A be tha vine, yous ir tha brenches. If a man bides ïn me, an me ïn hïm, he wull gie fruit ower ocht; apairt frae me ye can dae naethin ava.
Tae tha Jews at haed lippened on hïm, Jesus saed, “If yis houl tae whut A hae tocht ye, ye'r ma follaers aa richt.