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| 1 [[To the Chief Musician. A Melody of David.]] Hear, O God, my voice when I complain, From dread peril by the foe, wilt thou guard my life. |
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| 2 Wilt thou hide me, From the conclave of evil-doers, From the crowd of workers of iniquity. |
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| 3 Who have sharpened, like a sword, their tongue, Have made ready their arrow–a bitter word; |
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| 4 To shoot, in secret places, at the blameless one, Suddenly they shoot at him, and fear not. |
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| 5 They strengthen for them a wicked word, They talk of hiding snares, They have said, Who can see them? |
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| 6 They devise perverse things, They have completed the device well devised, Both the intent of each one, and the mind, are unsearchable. |
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| 7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds! |
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| 8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight.
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| 9 Therefore have all men feared,–And have told the doing of God, And, his work, have considered. |
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| 10 The righteous man shall rejoice in Yahweh, and seek refuge in him, Then shall glory–all who are upright in heart. |
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