Rotherham(i)
2 Wilt thou hide me, From the conclave of evil–doers, From the crowd of workers of iniquity.
3 Who have sharpened, like a sword, their tongue, Have made ready their arrow––a bitter word;
4 To shoot, in secret places, at the blameless one, Suddenly they shoot at him, and fear not.
5 They strengthen for them a wicked word, They talk of hiding snares, They have said, Who can see them?
6 They devise perverse things, They have completed the device well devised, Both the intent of each one, and the mind, are unsearchable.
7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds! 8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight.
7 Once let God have shot at them an arrow, Suddenly have appeared their own wounds! 8 When they were to have ruined another, their tongue smote themselves, All who observe them take flight.