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.

Abụ Ọma nke dịrị onyeisi abụ. Nʼusoro Sheminit. Abụ Ọma nke Devid. Onyenwe anyị, nyere anyị aka! Nʼihi na ndị ezi omume agwụla! Ndị kwesiri ntụkwasị obi anọkwaghị nʼetiti ụmụ mmadụ.

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

O nwekwaghị onye eziokwu dị nʼọnụ ya nye onye agbataobi ya. Egbugbere ọnụ onye ọbụla na-ekwukwa okwu ire ụtọ, maọbụ aghụghọ dị nʼobi ha.

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

Ka Onyenwe anyị wezuga egbugbere ọnụ niile na-ekwu okwu ire ụtọ na ire niile na-ekwu okwu ịnya isi.

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

Ndị na-asị, “Ọ bụ site nʼire anyị ka anyị ga-enwe mmeri; egbugbere ọnụ anyị ga-echebe anyị, ọ bụ onye na-achị anyị?”

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!

“Nʼihi na a na-apụnara ndị ogbenye ihe nʼihi ndị nọ na mkpa na-asụ ude, aga m ebili ugbu a, ka Onyenwe anyị kwuru. Aga m zọpụta ha pụọ nʼaka ndị ahụ ji iwe ekwulu ha.”

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

Okwu ọnụ Onyenwe anyị niile zuruoke, ha dịka ọlaọcha a nụchara nʼọkụ, nke a nụchara ugboro asaa.

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

O Onyenwe anyị, i ga-edebe anyị nʼudo ma sitekwa nʼaka ndị dị otu a chebe anyị ruo mgbe ebighị ebi.

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

Ndị ajọ omume na-ejegharị nʼebe niile mgbe a na-eto ihe ọjọọ nʼetiti ụmụ mmadụ.