Psalms 64

1 To the Chief Musician. A Melody of David. Hear, O God, my voice when I complain, From dread peril by the foe, wilt thou guard my life.

Wɔde ma dwomkyerɛfoɔ. Dawid dwom. Ao Onyankopɔn, tie me ɛberɛ a mereka me haw; bɔ me ɔkra ho ban firi ɔtamfoɔ ahunahuna ho.

2 Wilt thou hide me, From the conclave of evil-doers, From the crowd of workers of iniquity.

Fa me sie firi amumuyɛfoɔ agyinatuo ho, ne nnebɔneyɛfoɔ dodoɔ no gyegyeegyeyɛ ho.

3 Who have sharpened, like a sword, their tongue, Have made ready their arrow—a bitter word;

Wɔse wɔn tɛkrɛma sɛ akofena na wɔse wɔn ano sɛ mmɛmma kɔdiawuo.

4 To shoot, in secret places, at the blameless one, Suddenly they shoot at him, and fear not.

Wɔfiri atɛeɛ mu, to bɔ onipa a ne ho nni asɛm; wɔto bɔ no mpofirim a wɔnsuro.

5 They strengthen for them a wicked word, They talk of hiding snares, They have said, Who can see them?

Wɔhyehyɛ wɔn ho wɔn ho nkuran wɔ wɔn amumuyɛ nneyɛeɛ ho, wɔka sɛdeɛ wɔbɛsum afidie; wɔka sɛ, “Hwan na ɔbɛhunu yɛn?”

6 They devise perverse things, They have completed the device well devised, Both the intent of each one, and the mind, are unsearchable.

Wɔbɔ atɛnkyea ho pɔ na wɔka sɛ, “Yɛayɛ nhyehyɛeɛ a ɛyɛ pɛ!” Ampa ara onipa akoma ne nʼadwene yɛ anifire.

7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds!

Nanso, Onyankopɔn bɛto bɛmma awɔ wɔn; na wɔbɛhwe fam prɛko pɛ.

8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight.

Ɔbɛdane wɔn ankasa tɛkrɛma atia wɔn na ɔde wɔn aba ɔsɛeɛ mu; na wɔn a wɔbɛhunu wɔn nyinaa bɛbɔ wɔn tiri nko wɔ animtiabuo so.

9 Therefore have all men feared, —And have told the doing of God, And, his work, have considered.

Adasamma nyinaa bɛsuro; wɔbɛpae mu aka Onyankopɔn nnwuma na wɔasusu deɛ wayɛ ho.

10 The righteous man shall rejoice in Yahweh, and seek refuge in him, Then shall glory—all who are upright in heart.

Ma teneneefoɔ nni ahurisie wɔ Awurade mu na wɔmpɛ hintabea wɔ ne mu; ma wɔn a wɔn akoma mu teɛ nyinaa nyi no ayɛ!