Help, Yahweh, * for the devout have gone;

the faithful have disappeared * from the sons of men!

    Falsehood they speak, * each with his neighbor,

    with pernicious lips * and a double mind they speak.

        May Yahweh cut off * all pernicious lips, * every tongue that twists the truth,

        those who boast, * “By our tongue we prevail;

        our weapon is our lips; * who shall master us?”

        “For the sobs of the poor, * the groans of the needy,

        I will now arise,” * Yahweh says;

        “I will give my help * to the one who desires it.”

    The promises of Yahweh * are promises unalloyed,

    silver purged in a crucible, * refined seven times from clay.

You, Yahweh, have protected us; * you have guarded us from everlasting, O Eternal,

while on every side the wicked prowl, * digging pits for the sons of men.