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For the Chief Musician; upon an eight-stringed lyre. A Psalm of David.
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Help, Yahweh; for the godly man ceases. For the faithful fail from among the children of men.
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Everyone lies to his neighbor. With flattering lips, and with a double heart, do they speak.
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May Yahweh cut off all flattering lips, And the tongue that boasts,
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Who have said, "With our tongue will we prevail. Our lips are our own. Who is lord over us?"
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"Because of the oppression of the weak and because of the groaning of the needy, I will now arise," says Yahweh; "I will set him in safety from those who malign him."
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The words of Yahweh are flawless words, As silver refined in a clay furnace, purified seven times.
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You will keep them, Yahweh, You will preserve them from this generation forever.
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The wicked walk on every side, When what is vile is exalted among the sons of men.
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