Psalms 12

1 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5 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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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