The Hurtful Tongue

For the choirmaster. A Psalm of David.

Hear, O God, my voice of complaint;

preserve my life from dread of the enemy.

Hide me from the scheming of the wicked,

from the mob of workers of iniquity,

who sharpen their tongues like swords

and aim their bitter words like arrows,

ambushing the innocent in seclusion,

shooting suddenly, without fear.

They hold fast to their evil purpose;

they speak of hiding their snares.

“Who will see them?” they say.

They devise injustice and say,

“We have perfected a secret plan.”

For the inner man and the heart are mysterious.

But God will shoot them with arrows;

suddenly they will be wounded.

They will be made to stumble,

their own tongues turned against them.

All who see will shake their heads.

Then all mankind will fear

and proclaim the work of God;

so they will ponder what He has done.

Let the righteous rejoice in the LORD

and take refuge in Him;

let all the upright in heart exult.