Psalms 11

1 Unto the end: for the octave, a psalm for David.

2 Save me, O Lord, for there is now no saint: truths are decayed from among the children of men.

3 They have spoken vain things, every one to his neighbour: with deceitful lips, and with a double heart have they spoken.

4 May the Lord destroy all deceitful lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.

5 Who have said: We will magnify our tongue: our lips are our own: who is Lord over us?

6 By reason of the misery of the needy, and the groans of the poor, now will I arise, saith the Lord. I will set him in safety: I will deal confidently in his regard.

7 The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth, refined seven times.

8 Thou, O Lord, wilt preserve us: and keep us from this generation for ever.

9 The wicked walk round about: according to thy highness, thou hast multiplied the children of men.