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.

Ya Mukulu wa Bayimbi. Zabbuli ya Dawudi. Tuyambe, Ayi Mukama, kubanga tewakyali n’omu amanyi Katonda; abantu abeesigwa bonna baweddewo.

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

Buli muntu alimba munne; akamwa kaabwe akawaana koogera bya bulimba.

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

Mukama, osirise akamwa k’abo bonna abeewaanawaana, na buli lulimi olwenyumiriza;

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

nga boogera nti, “Tujja kuwangula n’olulimi lwaffe, era tufune byonna bye twetaaga n’akamwa kaffe, kubanga ani alitukuba ku mukono.”

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.

Mukama ayogera nti, “Olw’okujoogebwa kw’abanafu, n’olw’okusinda kw’abali mu bwetaavu, nnaasituka kaakano ne nnwanirira abo abalumbibwa.”

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

Ebigambo bya Mukama bya bwesigwa era bya mazima. Bigeraageranyizibwa n’effeeza erongoosebbwa obulungi emirundi musanvu mu kyoto eky’ebbumba.

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

Ayi Mukama, tukwesiga ng’onootukuumanga, n’otuwonya abantu abali ng’abo emirembe gyonna.

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

Ababi beeyisaayisa nga bagulumiza ebitaliimu nsa.