Psalms 12

1 To the Chief Musician. On the Octave. A Melody of David. O save Yahweh, for the man of lovingkindness, is no more, for the faithful, have vanished, from among the sons of men.

Načelniku godbe po osmini, psalm Davidov. Daj rešenje, Gospod, ker minil je dobrodelnik; ker izginili so resnični izmed sinov človeških.

2 Deception, speak they, every one with his neighbour, —with lips uttering smooth things—with a heart and a heart, do they speak.

Prazno govoré drug z drugim, s priliznenimi ustnami, z vojnim srcem govoré.

3 May Yahweh cut off All the lips that utter smooth things, —the tongue that speaketh swelling words;

Pokončal bode Gospod vse priliznene ustne, jezik visokobesedni;

4 Them who say—With our tongue, will we prevail, our lips, are our own, who is our master?

Njih, ki govoré: Našega jezika pravica bode obveljala, ustne naše so v naši oblasti, kdo bi bil nam gospod?

5 Because of violence done to the poor, because of the crying of the needy, Now, will I arise! O may Yahweh say, —I will place [him] in safety—let him puff at him!

Od zatiranja siromakov ubozih, od vpitja revežev vstanem skoraj, govori Gospod; pomagal bodem njemu, v katerega bode pihal žarjavico krivični.

6 The words of Yahweh, are words, that are pure, silver refined in a crucible of earth, purified seven times!

Besede Gospodove so čiste besede, srebro očiščeno v izbrani prsteni posodi, osnaženo sedemkrat.

7 Thou, O Yahweh, wilt keep them, —Thou wilt guard him, from this generation unto times age-abiding.

Ti, Gospod, ohrani jih; vsakega izmed njih brani tega rodu na veke.

8 On every side, the lawless, march about, —when worthlessness is exalted by the sons of men.

Krivični hodijo okrog povsodi, ko se povzdiguje malopridna reč med človeškimi sinovi.