1 Hear, O God, my voice when I complain, From dread peril by the foe, wilt thou guard my life. 2 Wilt thou hide me, From the conclave of evil-doers, From the crowd of workers of iniquity. 3 Who have sharpened, like a sword, their tongue, Have made ready their arrow - a bitter word; 4 To shoot, in secret places, at the blameless one, Suddenly they shoot at him, and fear not. 5 They strengthen for them a wicked word, They talk of hiding snares, They have said, Who can see them? 6 They devise perverse things, They have completed the device well devised, Both the intent of each one, and the mind, are unsearchable.
7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds! 8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight. 9 Therefore have all men feared, - And have told the doing of God, And, his work, have considered.