1To the Chief Musician. On the Octave. A Melody of David. 2Deception, speak they, every one with his neighbour,—with lips uttering smooth things—with a heart and a heart, do they speak. 3May Yahweh cut off All the lips that utter smooth things,—the tongue that speaketh swelling words; 4Them who say—With our tongue, will we prevail, our lips, are our own, who is our master? 5Because of violence done to the poor, because of the crying of the needy, Now, will I arise! O may Yahweh say,—I will place [him] in safety—let him puff at him! 6The words of Yahweh, are words, that are pure, silver refined in a crucible of earth, purified seven times! 7Thou, O Yahweh, wilt keep them,—Thou wilt guard him, from this generation unto times age-abiding. 8On every side, the lawless, march about,—when worthlessness is exalted by the sons of men.