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.

To the Chief Musician. On the Octave. A Melody of David. O save Yahweh, for the man of lovingkindness, is no more, for the faithful, have vanished, from among the sons of men.

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

Deception, speak they, every one with his neighbour, —with lips uttering smooth things—with a heart and a heart, do they speak.

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

May Yahweh cut off All the lips that utter smooth things, —the tongue that speaketh swelling words;

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

Them who say—With our tongue, will we prevail, our lips, are our own, who is our master?

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.

Because of violence done to the poor, because of the crying of the needy, Now, will I arise! O may Yahweh say, —I will place [him] in safety—let him puff at him!

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

The words of Yahweh, are words, that are pure, silver refined in a crucible of earth, purified seven times!

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

Thou, O Yahweh, wilt keep them, —Thou wilt guard him, from this generation unto times age-abiding.

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

On every side, the lawless, march about, —when worthlessness is exalted by the sons of men.