Psalm 12

St Chrysostom

Help, Lord, the godly are no more;
The faithful from mankind take leave.
They all tell lies to their neighbour;
With flatt'ring lips they all deceive.
Lord, may you cut off lips that fawn,
Be every boastful tongue withdrawn.

They say, ‘We'll triumph by our cries;
We own our lips - who is our head?’
The Lord declares, ‘I’ll now arise,
Because the weak are so oppressed,
Because the needy ones all groan,
Them I’ll protect from spiteful men.’

Like silver smelted sevenfold,
The Lord's pure words contain no flaw.
O Lord, you will us safe uphold,
Protect us from them evermore.
The wicked freely strut round while
Men give esteem to what is vile.