To the Chief Musician. On an eight-stringed harp. A Psalm of David.
- Help, Lord, for the godly man ceases!
For the faithful disappear from among the sons of men.
- They speak idly everyone with his neighbour;
With flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
- May the Lord cut off all flattering lips,
And the tongue that speaks proud thing,
- Who have said,
“With our tongue we will prevail;
Our lips are our own;
Who is lord over us?”
- “For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy,
Now I will arise,” says the Lord;
“I will set him in the safety for which he yearns.”
- The words of the Lord are pure words,
Like silver tried in a furnace of earth,
Purified seven times.
- You shall keep them, O Lord,
You shall preserve them from this generation forever.
- The wicked prowl on every side,
When vileness is exalted among the sons of men.
Thank-you, Lord, that you protect Your own even amidst the fiery times of persecution!