Ψαλμοί 11

1Unto the end; for the octave, a psalm for David. 2Save me, O Lord, for there is now no saint: truths are decayed from among the children of men. 3They have spoken vain things every one to his neighbour: with deceitful lips, and with a double heart have they spoken. 4May the Lord destroy all deceitful lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things. 5Who have said: We will magnify our tongue; our lips are our own; who is Lord over us? 6By reason of the misery of the needy, and the groans of the poor, now will I arise, saith the Lord. I win set him in safety; I will deal confidently in his regard. 7The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth refined seven times. 8Thou, O Lord, wilt preserve us: and keep us from this generation for ever.