Psalms 12

1 For the Chief Musician; upon an eight-stringed lyre. A Psalm of David. Help, LORD; for the godly man ceases. For the faithful fail from amongst the children of men.

In finem, pro octava. Psalmus David. Salvum me fac, Domine, quoniam defecit sanctus, quoniam diminutæ sunt veritates a filiis hominum.

2 Everyone lies to his neighbour. They speak with flattering lips, and with a double heart.

Vana locuti sunt unusquisque ad proximum suum; labia dolosa, in corde et corde locuti sunt.

3 May the LORD cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that boasts,

Disperdat Dominus universa labia dolosa, et linguam magniloquam.

4 who have said, “With our tongue we will prevail. Our lips are our own. Who is lord over us?”

Qui dixerunt: Linguam nostram magnificabimus; labia nostra a nobis sunt. Quis noster dominus est?

5 “Because of the oppression of the weak and because of the groaning of the needy, I will now arise,” says the LORD; “I will set him in safety from those who malign him.”

Propter miseriam inopum, et gemitum pauperum, nunc exsurgam, dicit Dominus. Ponam in salutari; fiducialiter agam in eo.

6 The LORD’s words are flawless words, as silver refined in a clay furnace, purified seven times.

Eloquia Domini, eloquia casta; argentum igne examinatum, probatum terræ, purgatum septuplum.

7 You will keep them, LORD. You will preserve them from this generation forever.

Tu, Domine, servabis nos, et custodies nos a generatione hac in æternum.

8 The wicked walk on every side, when what is vile is exalted amongst the sons of men.

In circuitu impii ambulant: secundum altitudinem tuam multiplicasti filios hominum.