To the chief singer, on lyre. A psalm of Dawiḏ.
1 Save, 𐤉𐤄𐤅𐤄, for the kind one is no more!
For the trustworthy have ceased from among the sons of men.
2 They speak falsehood with each other;
Flattering lips, and a double heart they speak.
3 𐤉𐤄𐤅𐤄 cuts off all flattering lips,
A tongue that speaks swelling words,
4 Who said, \"With our tongue we do mightily;
Our lips are our own;
Who is master over us?\"
5 \"Because of the oppression of the poor,
because of the sighing of the needy,
I now arise,\" says 𐤉𐤄𐤅𐤄,
\"I place in safety - he pants for it.\"
6 The Words of 𐤉𐤄𐤅𐤄 are clean words,
Silver tried in a furnace of earth,
Refined seven times.
7 You guard them, O 𐤉𐤄𐤅𐤄,
You preserve them,
from this generation forever.
8 The wicked walk around on every side,
When worthlessness is exalted among the sons of men.
Back to Scriptures