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.

David ƒe ha na hɛnɔ la. Woadzii ɖe seminit ŋu. Xɔ nam, Yehowa elabena, mawuvɔ̃lawo megali o, eye nuteƒewɔlawo bu le amegbetɔwo dome.

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

Ame sia ame kaa aʋatso na ehavi, eye wovivia nu me, elabena woƒe nuyiwo blea ame.

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

Yehowa nelã beblenuyiwo katã kple aɖe siwo doa wo ɖokui ɖe dzi

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

hegblɔna be, “Míaɖu dzi kple míaƒe aɖewo, míaƒe nuyiwo nye mía tɔ, ame kae aɖu amegã ɖe mía dzi?”

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!

Yehowa be, “Esi wotea ame gblɔewo ɖe to, eye hiãtɔwo ŋena ta la, matso azɔ. Maɖe wo tso ame siwo le vlo dom wo la ƒe asi me.”

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

Kpɔtsɔtsɔ mele Yehowa ƒe nyawo ŋuti o, wole abe klosalo si wololo le anyikpo me, eye wòdza zi gbɔ zi adre la ene.

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

Ame vɔ̃ɖiwo zɔna le ablɔɖe me, eye wodea bubu yakanuwɔwɔwo ŋu le amegbetɔwo dome.

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

O! Yehowa, àna míanɔ dedie, eye àdzɔ mía ŋu tso ame siawo tɔgbi ƒe asi me tegbetegbe.