Psalms 12

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

Psalmus David in finem, pro octava. Salvum me fac Domine, quoniam defecit sanctus: quoniam diminutae sunt veritates a filiis hominum.

2 Everyone lies to his neighbor. 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 Yahweh 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 Yahweh; “I will set him in safety from those who malign him.”

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

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

Eloquia Domini, eloquia casta: argentum igne examinatum, probatum terrae purgatum septuplum.

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

Tu Domine servabis nos: et custodies nos a generatione hac in aeternum.

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

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