Salme 12

1 (Til sangmesteren. Efter den ottende. En salme af David.) HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;

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

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

Everyone lies to his neighbor. They speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart.

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

May Yahweh cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that boasts,

4 dem, som siger: "Vor Tunge gør os stærke, vore Læber er med os, hvo er vor Herre?"

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

5 "For armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu stå op", siger HERREN, "jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad."

“Because of the oppression of the weak and because of the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,” says Yahweh; “I will set him in safety from those who malign him.”

6 HERRENs Ord er rene Ord, det pure, syvfold lutrede Sølv.

Yahweh’s words are flawless words, as silver refined in a clay furnace, purified seven times.

7 HERRE, du vogter os, værner os evigt mod denne Slægt.

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

8 De gudløse færdes frit overalt, når Skarn ophøjes blandt Menneskens Børn.

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