⁰To the choirmaster: Do not ruin. A psalm of Asaph, a song.

¹We give thanks to you, God, we give thanks, and your name is near; people recount your wonders.

²When I take the appointed time, I myself will judge by what is level.

³The land and all its inhabitants are melting away; I myself have measured out its pillars. Selah.

⁴I said to the boasters, Do not boast; and to the wicked, Do not lift up the horn.

⁵Do not lift up your horn to the height; do not speak with a neck of arrogance.

⁶For not from the sunrise and from the setting, and not from the wilderness, comes the lifting up.

⁷For God is the judge: this one he brings low, and this one he lifts up.

⁸For a cup is in the hand of Yahweh, and the wine foams, full of spice; he pours out from it; only its dregs all the wicked of the land will drain and drink.

⁹And I will declare forever; I will sing praises to the God of Jacob.

¹⁰And all the horns of the wicked I will hew off; the horns of the righteous will be lifted high.