Psalms 12

1 Unto the end; for the octave, a psalm for David. Save me, O Lord, for there is now no saint: truths are decayed from among the children of men.

Til Sangmesteren; til Skeminith; en Psalme af David.

2 They have spoken vain things every one to his neighbour: with deceitful lips, and with a double heart have they spoken.

Frels, Herre! thi de fromme ere borte; thi de trofaste ere blevne faa iblandt Menneskens Børn.

3 May the Lord destroy all deceitful lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.

De tale Løgn, hver med sin Næste; med smigrende Læber, snart af et, snart af et andet Hjerte tale de.

4 Who have said: We will magnify our tongue; our lips are our own; who is Lord over us?

Herren udrydde alle smigrende Læber, den Tunge, som taler store Ord,

5 By reason of the misery of the needy, and the groans of the poor, now will I arise, saith the Lord. I win set him in safety; I will deal confidently in his regard.

dem, som sige: Ved vor Tunge skulle vi faa Overhaand, vore Læber ere med os; hvo er vor Herre?

6 The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth refined seven times.

For de elendiges Ødelæggelses Skyld, for de fattiges Jamren vil jeg nu staa op, siger Herren; jeg vil sætte en Frelse for den, som han fnyser ad.

7 Thou, O Lord, wilt preserve us: and keep us from this generation for ever.

Herrens Ord ere rene Ord, ligesom Sølv, der er smeltet i en Ovn af Jord, lutret syv Gange.

8 The wicked walk round about: according to thy highness, thou best multiplied the children of men.

Du, Herre! du vil bevare dem; du vil vogte os imod denne Slægt evindelig. De ugudelige færdes trindt omkring, naar Skarn ophøjes iblandt Menneskens Børn.