Salme 12

1 (Til sangmesteren. Efter den ottende. En salme af David.) HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;

For the Chief Musician; set to the Sheminith. A Psalm of David. Help, Jehovah; for the godly man ceaseth; For the faithful fail from among the children of men.

2 de taler Løgn, den ene til den anden, med svigefulde Læber og tvedelt Hjerte.

They speak falsehood every one with his neighbor: With flattering lip, and with a double heart, do they speak.

3 Hver svigefuld Læbe udrydde HERREN, den Tunge, der taler store Ord,

Jehovah will cut off all flattering lips, The tongue that speaketh great things;

4 dem, som siger: "Vor Tunge gør os stærke, vore Læber er med os, hvo er vor Herre?"

Who have said, With our tongue will we prevail; Our lips are our own: who is lord over us?

5 "For armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu stå op", siger HERREN, "jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad."

Because of the oppression of the poor, because of the sighing of the needy, Now will I arise, saith Jehovah; I will set him in the safety he panteth for.

6 HERRENs Ord er rene Ord, det pure, syvfold lutrede Sølv.

The words of Jehovah are pure words; As silver tried in a furnace on the earth, Purified seven times.

7 HERRE, du vogter os, værner os evigt mod denne Slægt.

Thou wilt keep them, O Jehovah, Thou wilt preserve them from this generation for ever.

8 De gudløse færdes frit overalt, når Skarn ophøjes blandt Menneskens Børn.

The wicked walk on every side, When vileness is exalted among the sons of men.