Salme 12

1 Til Sangmesteren. Efter den ottende. En Salme af David.

Unto the end; for the octave, a psalm for David. Save me, O Lord, for there is now no saint: truths are decayed from among the children of men.

2 HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;

They have spoken vain things every one to his neighbour: with deceitful lips, and with a double heart have they spoken.

3 de taler Løgn, den ene til den anden, med svigefulde Læber og tvedelt Hjerte.

May the Lord destroy all deceitful lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.

4 Hver svigefuld Læbe udrydde HERREN, den Tunge, der taler store Ord,

Who have said: We will magnify our tongue; our lips are our own; who is Lord over us?

5 dem, som siger: »Vor Tunge gør os stærke, vore Læber er med os, hvo er vor Herre?«

By reason of the misery of the needy, and the groans of the poor, now will I arise, saith the Lord. I win set him in safety; I will deal confidently in his regard.

6 »For armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu staa op«, siger HERREN, »jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad.«

The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth refined seven times.

7 HERRENS Ord er rene Ord, det pure, syvfold lutrede Sølv.

Thou, O Lord, wilt preserve us: and keep us from this generation for ever.

8 HERRE, du vogter os, værner os evigt mod denne Slægt. De gudløse færdes frit overalt, naar Skarn ophøjes blandt Menneskens Børn.

The wicked walk round about: according to thy highness, thou best multiplied the children of men.