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.

Wɔde ma dwomkyerɛfoɔ sɛ wɔnto no wɔ “Seminit” sankuo nne so. Dawid dwom. Boa yɛn, Awurade, na nyamesurofoɔ asa; nokwafoɔ ayera wɔ nnipa mu.

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

Obiara di atorɔ 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 ntwene;

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

wɔn a wɔse, “Yɛde yɛn tɛkrɛma bɛdi nkonim; yɛn ano yɛ yɛn dea, na hwan ne yɛn wura?”

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 nhyɛ a wɔde hyɛ mmɔborɔni no ne ohiani apenesie no enti, mɛsɔre afei,” Awurade na ɔseɛ. “Mɛbɔ wɔn ho ban afiri wɔn a wɔha wɔn ho.”

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

Awurade asɛm yɛ nokorɛ te sɛ dwetɛ a wɔasɔne so wɔ fononoo mu, na wɔahoa ho mprɛnson.

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

Ao Awurade, wobɛkora yɛn na woabɔ yɛn ho ban afebɔɔ afiri saa abɔnefoɔ yi ho,

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

abɔnefoɔ a wɔnenam sɛdeɛ wɔpɛ ɛberɛ a adasamma de anidie ma afideɛ.