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.

Dawid dwom. Boa yɛn, Awurade, na nyamesurofo asa; nokwafo ayera wɔ nnipa mu.

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

Obiara di atoro kyerɛ ne yɔnko; wɔn ano a ɛdɛfɛdɛfɛ no ka nnaadaasɛm.

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

Ma Awurade ntwa nnaadaa ano ne tɛkrɛma biara a ɛhoahoa ne ho nkyene;

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

nea ɛka se, “Yɛde yɛn tɛkrɛma bedi nkonim; yɛn ano bedi ama yɛn, na hena na odi yɛn so tumi?”

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.”

“Esiane ɔhyɛ a wɔde hyɛ mmɔborɔni ne ohiani apinisi no nti, mɛsɔre afei,” Awurade na ose. “Mɛbɔ wɔn ho ban afi wɔn a wɔhaw wɔn no ho.”

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

Awurade asɛm yɛ nokware te sɛ dwetɛ a wɔasɔn so wɔ fononoo mu, na wɔahoa ho mpɛn ason.

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

Awurade, wobɛkora mmɔborɔni na woabɔ yɛn ho ban afi saa nnipa yi ho afebɔɔ.

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

Amumɔyɛfo nenam sɛnea wɔpɛ, bere a adesamma de nidi ma afide. Wɔde ma dwonkyerɛfo.