Psalms 12

1 To the Chief Musician. On the Octave. A Melody of David. O save Yahweh, for the man of lovingkindness, is no more, for the faithful, have vanished, from among the sons of men.

Fún adarí orin. Gẹ́gẹ́ bí ti ṣeminiti. Saamu ti Dafidi. Ràn wá lọ́wọ́, Olúwa, nítorí ẹni ìwà-bí-Ọlọ́run kò sí mọ́; olóòtítọ́ tí pòórá kúrò láàrín àwọn ènìyàn.

2 Deception, speak they, every one with his neighbour, —with lips uttering smooth things—with a heart and a heart, do they speak.

Olúkúlùkù ń parọ́ fún aládùúgbò rẹ̀; ètè èké wọn ń sọ ẹ̀tàn.

3 May Yahweh cut off All the lips that utter smooth things, —the tongue that speaketh swelling words;

Kí Olúwa kí ó gé ètè èké wọn àti gbogbo ahọ́n ìfọ́nnu

4 Them who say—With our tongue, will we prevail, our lips, are our own, who is our master?

tí ó wí pé, “Àwa ó borí pẹ̀lú ahọ́n wa; àwa ní ètè wa, ta ni ọ̀gá wa?”

5 Because of violence done to the poor, because of the crying of the needy, Now, will I arise! O may Yahweh say, —I will place [him] in safety—let him puff at him!

“Nítorí ìnilára àwọn aláìlágbára àti ìkérora àwọn aláìní, Èmi yóò dìde nísinsin yìí,” ni Olúwa wí. “Èmi yóò dáàbò bò wọ́n lọ́wọ́ àwọn tí ń ṣe àrankàn wọn.”

6 The words of Yahweh, are words, that are pure, silver refined in a crucible of earth, purified seven times!

Ọ̀rọ̀ Olúwa sì jẹ aláìlábùkù, gẹ́gẹ́ bí fàdákà tí a yọ́ nínú ìléru amọ̀, tí a sọ di mímọ́ nígbà méje.

7 Thou, O Yahweh, wilt keep them, —Thou wilt guard him, from this generation unto times age-abiding.

Olúwa, ìwọ yóò pa wá mọ́ kí o sì gbà wá lọ́wọ́ àwọn ènìyàn wọ̀nyí títí láé.

8 On every side, the lawless, march about, —when worthlessness is exalted by the sons of men.

Àwọn ènìyàn búburú ń rin ìrìn fáàrí kiri nígbà tí wọn ń bọ̀wọ̀ fún òsì láàrín àwọn ènìyàn.