Psalms 12

1 For the chief musician; set to the Sheminith. A psalm of David. Help, Yahweh, for the godly have disappeared; the faithful have vanished.

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 Everyone says empty words to his neighbor; everyone speaks with flattering lips and a double heart.

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 Yahweh, cut off all flattering lips, every tongue declaring great things.

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

4 These are those who have said, “With our tongues will we prevail. When our lips speak, who can be master over us?”

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 against the poor, because of the groans of the needy, I will arise,” says Yahweh. “I will provide the safety for which they long.”

“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 pure words, like silver purified in a furnace on the earth, refined seven times.

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

7 You are Yahweh! You keep them. You preserve the godly people from this wicked generation and forever.

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

8 The wicked walk on every side when evil is exalted among the children of mankind.

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