The Holy Bible – Knox Translation
The Book of Psalms
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Psalm 11
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1
(To the choir-master. Over the octave. A psalm. Of David.)
2
Lord, come to my rescue; piety is dead; in a base world, true hearts have grown rare.
3
None but exchanges empty forms of speech with his neighbour; everywhere false hearts and treacherous lips.
4
Those treacherous lips, that tongue with high-sounding phrases; Lord, rid the earth of them!
5
With our tongues, they say, we can do great things; our lips are good friends to us; we own no master.
6
Now, says the Lord, I will bestir myself, on behalf of the helpless who are so ill used, of the poor who cry out so bitterly; I will win them the redress they long for.
7
The promises of the Lord are true metal, like silver that is tested in the crucible, the stains of earth gone, seven times refined.
8
Yes, Lord, thou wilt watch over us, and keep us ever safe from these evil days.

9
See how the wicked come and go all around us, how they rise to greatness, this base breed of men!