For the Chief Musician. To the tune of “Do Not Destroy.” A poem by David.
Do you indeed speak righteousness, silent ones?
Do you judge blamelessly, you sons of men?
No, in your heart you plot injustice.
You measure out the violence of your hands in the earth.
The wicked go astray from the womb.
They are wayward as soon as they are born, speaking lies.
Their poison is like the poison of a snake,
like a deaf cobra that stops its ear,
which doesn’t listen to the voice of charmers,
no matter how skillful the charmer may be.
Break their teeth, God, in their mouth.
Break out the great teeth of the young lions, Yahweh.
Let them vanish like water that flows away.
When they draw the bow, let their arrows be made blunt.
Let them be like a snail which melts and passes away,
like the stillborn child, who has not seen the sun.
Before your pots can feel the heat of the thorns,
he will sweep away the green and the burning alike.
The righteous shall rejoice when he sees the vengeance.
He shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked,
so that men shall say, “Most certainly there is a reward for the righteous.
Most certainly there is a God who judges the earth.”