< Salme 12 >

1 Til Sangmesteren. Efter den ottende. En Salme af David.
[For the Chief Musician; upon an eight-stringed lyre. A Psalm of David.] Help, Jehovah; for the faithful ceases. For the loyal have vanished from among the descendants of Adam.
2 HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;
Everyone lies to his neighbor. They speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart.
3 de taler Løgn, den ene til den anden, med svigefulde Læber og tvedelt Hjerte.
May Jehovah cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that boasts,
4 Hver svigefuld Læbe udrydde HERREN, den Tunge, der 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 siger: »Vor Tunge gør os stærke, vore Læber er 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 Jehovah; "I will place in safety the one who longs for it."
6 »For armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu staa op«, siger HERREN, »jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad.«
The words of Jehovah are flawless words, as silver refined in a clay furnace, purified seven times.
7 HERRENS Ord er rene Ord, det pure, syvfold lutrede Sølv.
You, Jehovah, will protect us. You will guard us from this generation forever.
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 on every side, when what is vile is exalted among the descendants of Adam.

< Salme 12 >