| | 1 | 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. | |
| | 2 | They speak idly everyone with his neighbor; With flattering lips and a double heart they speak. | |
| | 3 | May the LORD cut off all flattering lips, And the tongue that speaks proud things, | |
| | 4 | Who have said, "With our tongue we will prevail; Our lips are our own; Who is lord over us?" | |
| | 5 | "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." | |
| | 6 | The words of the LORD are pure words, Like silver tried in a furnace of earth, Purified seven times. | |
| | 7 | You shall keep them, O LORD, You shall preserve them from this generation forever. | |
| | 8 | The wicked prowl on every side, When vileness is exalted among the sons of men. | |
