Salme 12

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

For the Chief Musician; upon an eight-stringed lyre. A Psalm of David. Help, LORD; for the godly man ceases. For the faithful fail from amongst the children of men.

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

Everyone lies to his neighbour. They speak with flattering lips, and with a double 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 cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that boasts,

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

who have said, “With our tongue we will prevail. Our lips are our own. Who is lord over us?”

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

“Because of the oppression of the weak and because of the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,” says the LORD; “I will set him in safety from those who malign 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 LORD’s words are flawless words, as silver refined in a clay furnace, purified seven times.

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

You will keep them, LORD. You will preserve them from this generation forever.

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 wicked walk on every side, when what is vile is exalted amongst the sons of men.