< 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, LORD; for the godly man ceases. For the faithful fail from amongst the children of men.
2 HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;
Everyone lies to his neighbour. 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 the LORD 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 the LORD; “I will set him in safety from those who malign him.”
6 »For armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu staa op«, siger HERREN, »jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad.«
The LORD’s words 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 will keep them, LORD. You will preserve them 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 amongst the sons of men.

< Salme 12 >