Salme 12

1 Til Sangmesteren; til Skeminith; en Psalme af David.

Unto the end. For the octave. A Psalm of David. Save me, O Lord, because holiness has passed away, because truths have been diminished, before the sons of men.

2 Frels, Herre! thi de fromme ere borte; thi de trofaste ere blevne faa iblandt Menneskens Børn.

They have been speaking emptiness, each one to his neighbor; they have been speaking with deceitful lips and a duplicitous heart.

3 De tale Løgn, hver med sin Næste; med smigrende Læber, snart af et, snart af et andet Hjerte tale de.

May the Lord scatter all deceitful lips, along with the tongue that speaks malice.

4 Herren udrydde alle smigrende Læber, den Tunge, som taler store Ord,

They have said: “We will magnify our tongue; our lips belong to us. What is Lord to us?”

5 dem, som sige: Ved vor Tunge skulle vi faa Overhaand, vore Læber ere med os; hvo er vor Herre?

Because of the misery of the destitute and the groaning of the poor, now I will arise, says the Lord. I will place him in safety. I will act faithfully toward him.

6 For de elendiges Ødelæggelses Skyld, for de fattiges Jamren vil jeg nu staa op, siger Herren; jeg vil sætte en Frelse for den, som han fnyser ad.

The eloquence of the Lord is pure eloquence, silver tested by fire, purged from the earth, refined seven times.

7 Herrens Ord ere rene Ord, ligesom Sølv, der er smeltet i en Ovn af Jord, lutret syv Gange.

You, O Lord, will preserve us, and you will guard us from this generation into eternity.

8 Du, Herre! du vil bevare dem; du vil vogte os imod denne Slægt evindelig. De ugudelige færdes trindt omkring, naar Skarn ophøjes iblandt Menneskens Børn.

The impious wander aimlessly. According to your loftiness, you have multiplied the sons of men.