Psalms 12

1 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 among the children of men.

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 “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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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