Psalms 64
1 To the Chief Musician. A Melody of David. Hear, O God, my voice when I complain, From dread peril by the foe, wilt thou guard my life.
Fún adarí orin. Saamu ti Dafidi. Gbóhùn mi, Ọlọ́run, bí mo ti ń sọ àròyé mi pa ọkàn mi mọ́ kúrò lọ́wọ́ ẹ̀rù àwọn ọ̀tá.
2 Wilt thou hide me, From the conclave of evil-doers, From the crowd of workers of iniquity.
Pa mí mọ́ kúrò lọ́wọ́ ìmọ̀ ìkọ̀kọ̀ àwọn ènìyàn búburú kúrò nínú ọ̀pọ̀ igbe lọ́wọ́ ìrúkèrúdò oníṣẹ́ ẹ̀ṣẹ̀.
3 Who have sharpened, like a sword, their tongue, Have made ready their arrow—a bitter word;
Wọ́n pọ́n ahọ́n wọn bí idà, wọ́n sì fa ọrun wọn le láti tafà wọn, àní ọ̀rọ̀ kíkorò.
4 To shoot, in secret places, at the blameless one, Suddenly they shoot at him, and fear not.
Wọ́n tafà ní ìkọ̀kọ̀ sí àwọn aláìlẹ́ṣẹ̀: wọ́n tafà si lójijì, wọn kò sì bẹ̀rù.
5 They strengthen for them a wicked word, They talk of hiding snares, They have said, Who can see them?
Wọ́n, gba ara wọn níyànjú nínú èrò búburú, wọ́n sọ̀rọ̀ lórí dídẹkùn sílẹ̀ ní ìkọ̀kọ̀ wọ́n wí pé, “Ta ni yóò rí wa?”
6 They devise perverse things, They have completed the device well devised, Both the intent of each one, and the mind, are unsearchable.
Wọ́n gbìmọ̀ àìṣòdodo, wọ́n wí pé, “A wa ti parí èrò tí a gbà tán!” Lóòótọ́ àyà àti ọkàn ènìyàn kún fún àrékérekè.
7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds!
Ṣùgbọ́n Ọlọ́run yóò ta wọ́n ní ọfà; wọn ó sì gbọgbẹ́ lójijì.
8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight.
Ahọ́n wọn yóò sì dojú ìjà kọ wọ́n, yóò sì run wọ́n, gbogbo ẹni tí ó bá rí wọn yóò sì mi orí fún wọn.
9 Therefore have all men feared, —And have told the doing of God, And, his work, have considered.
Gbogbo ènìyàn yóò máa bẹ̀rù wọn ó kéde iṣẹ́ Ọlọ́run wọn ó dúró lé ohun tí ó ṣe.
10 The righteous man shall rejoice in Yahweh, and seek refuge in him, Then shall glory—all who are upright in heart.
Jẹ́ kí olódodo kí ó yọ̀ nínú Olúwa yóò sì rí ààbò nínú rẹ̀. Gbogbo ẹni ìdúró ṣinṣin ní ọkàn yóò máa yìn ín.
