The words of the Lord are pure words;
As silver tried in a furnace on the earth, refined seven times.

For the choir director; upon an eight-stringed lyre. A Psalm of David.
Help, Lord, for the godly man ceases to be,
For the faithful disappear from among the sons of men.

“Because of the devastation of the afflicted, because of the groaning of the needy,
Now I will arise,” says the Lord; “I will set him in the safety for which he longs.”

They speak falsehood to one another;
With flattering lips and with a double heart they speak.

You, O Lord, will keep them;
You will preserve him from this generation forever.

May the Lord cut off all flattering lips,
The tongue that speaks great things;

Who have said, “With our tongue we will prevail;
Our lips are our own; who is lord over us?”

The wicked strut about on every side
When vileness is exalted among the sons of men.