Psalms 12

1 For the chief music-maker on the Sheminith. A Psalm. Of David. Send help, Lord, for mercy has come to an end; there is no more faith among the children of men.

Til sangmesteren, efter Sjeminit; en salme av David. Frels, Herre! for de fromme er borte, de trofaste er forsvunnet blandt menneskenes barn.

2 Everyone says false words to his neighbour: their tongues are smooth in their talk, and their hearts are full of deceit.

Løgn taler de, hver med sin næste, med falske leber; med tvesinnet hjerte taler de.

3 The smooth lips and the tongue of pride will be cut off by the Lord.

Herren utrydde alle falske leber, den tunge som taler store ord,

4 They have said, With our tongues will we overcome; our lips are ours: who is lord over us?

dem som sier: Ved vår tunge skal vi få overhånd, våre leber er med oss, hvem er herre over oss?

5 Because of the crushing of the poor and the weeping of those in need, now will I come to his help, says the Lord; I will give him the salvation which he is desiring.

For de elendiges ødeleggelses skyld, for de fattiges sukks skyld vil jeg nu reise mig, sier Herren; jeg vil gi dem frelse som stunder efter den.

6 The words of the Lord are true words: like silver tested by fire and burned clean seven times.

Herrens ord er rene ord, likesom sølv som er renset i en smeltedigel i jorden, syv ganger renset.

7 You will keep them, O Lord, you will keep them safe from this generation for ever.

Du, Herre, vil bevare dem, du vil vokte dem for denne slekt evindelig.

8 The sinners are walking on every side, and evil is honoured among the children of men.

Rundt omkring svermer de ugudelige, når skarn er ophøiet blandt menneskenes barn.