0To the choirmaster, over the eight-stringed lyre. A psalm to David.
1Save, Yahweh! For the faithful one has come to an end; the trustworthy have vanished from among the children of humankind.
2Emptiness they speak, each to his neighbor; with smooth lips, with a double heart they speak.
3May Yahweh cut off all smooth lips, the tongue that speaks great things.
4Those who said, 'With our tongue we will prevail; our lips are with us. Who is lord over us?'
5"From the devastation of the poor, from the groaning of the needy, now I will rise up," says Yahweh; "I will set him in the safety he pants for."
6The words of Yahweh are pure words, silver refined in a crucible of the land, purified sevenfold.
7You, Yahweh, will keep them; you will guard him from this generation forever.
8All around the wicked walk about, when worthlessness is raised high among the children of humankind.