Psalms 12

1For the music director, on the eight-string lyre, a psalm of David.

2Help, Adonai! For no one godly exists. For the faithful have vanished from the children of men.

3Everyone tells a lie to his neighbor, talking with flattering lips and a divided heart.

4May Adonai cut off all flattering lips— a tongue bragging big things.

5They say: “With our tongue we’ll prevail. We own our lips—who can master us?”

6“Because of the oppression of the poor, because of the groaning of the needy, now will I arise,” says Adonai. “I will put him in the safe place— he pants for it.”

7The words of Adonai are pure words— like silver refined in an earthly crucible, purified seven times.

8You will keep us safe, Adonai. You will protect us from this generation forever.

9The wicked strut all around, while vileness is exalted by mankind.