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. Efter den ottende. En Salme af David.

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

HERRE, hjælp, thi de fromme er borte, svundet er Troskab blandt Menneskens Børn;

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

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

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

Hver svigefuld Læbe udrydde HERREN, den Tunge, der 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 siger: »Vor Tunge gør os stærke, vore Læber er 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 armes Nød og fattiges Suk vil jeg nu staa op«, siger HERREN, »jeg frelser den, som man blæser ad.«

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

HERRENS Ord er rene Ord, det pure, syvfold lutrede Sølv.

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

HERRE, du vogter os, værner os evigt mod denne Slægt. De gudløse færdes frit overalt, naar Skarn ophøjes blandt Menneskens Børn.