Psalms 12

1 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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