To the choirmaster. A psalm of David. Hear my voice, God, in my complaint; guard my life from the dread of the enemy.
The Hurtful Tongue
Hide me from the secret counsel of evildoers, from the tumult of the workers of iniquity,
who have sharpened their tongue like a sword, who have aimed their arrow — a bitter word —
to shoot at the blameless from hiding places; suddenly they shoot him and do not fear.
They strengthen for themselves an evil word; they recount how to hide snares; they have said, “Who will see them?”
They search out injustices; “We have completed a well-searched search” — and the inward part of a man, and the heart, are deep.
But God shot at them with an arrow; suddenly their wounds came.
And they made him stumble — their own tongue is against them; all who see them shake the head.
And all mankind feared, and they declared the work of God, and they understood his deed.
The righteous will rejoice in the LORD and take refuge in him, and all the upright of heart will boast.