Chapter 12

PSA.12:1 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.
PSA.12:2 They speak idly everyone with his neighbor; With flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
PSA.12:3 May the LORD cut off all flattering lips, And the tongue that speaks proud things,
PSA.12:4 Who have said, “With our tongue we will prevail; Our lips are our own; Who is lord over us?”
PSA.12:5 “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.”
PSA.12:6 The words of the LORD are pure words, Like silver tried in a furnace of earth, Purified seven times.
PSA.12:7 You shall keep them, O LORD, You shall preserve them from this generation forever.
PSA.12:8 The wicked prowl on every side, When vileness is exalted among the sons of men.

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