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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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 words of Yahweh, are words, that are pure, silver refined in a crucible of earth, 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 Thou, O Yahweh, wilt keep them, —Thou wilt guard him, from this generation unto times age-abiding.

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

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

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