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.

Ya Mukulu wa Bayimbi. Zabbuli ya Dawudi. Tuyambe, Ayi Mukama, kubanga tewakyali n’omu amanyi Katonda; abantu abeesigwa bonna baweddewo.

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

Buli muntu alimba munne; akamwa kaabwe akawaana koogera bya bulimba.

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

Mukama, osirise akamwa k’abo bonna abeewaanawaana, na buli lulimi olwenyumiriza;

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

nga boogera nti, “Tujja kuwangula n’olulimi lwaffe, era tufune byonna bye twetaaga n’akamwa kaffe, kubanga ani alitukuba ku mukono.”

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!

Mukama ayogera nti, “Olw’okujoogebwa kw’abanafu, n’olw’okusinda kw’abali mu bwetaavu, nnaasituka kaakano ne nnwanirira abo abalumbibwa.”

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

Ebigambo bya Mukama bya bwesigwa era bya mazima. Bigeraageranyizibwa n’effeeza erongoosebbwa obulungi emirundi musanvu mu kyoto eky’ebbumba.

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

Ayi Mukama, tukwesiga ng’onootukuumanga, n’otuwonya abantu abali ng’abo emirembe gyonna.

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

Ababi beeyisaayisa nga bagulumiza ebitaliimu nsa.