Psalm 58

For the choirmaster. To the tune of “Do Not Destroy.” A Miktam of David. 

Do you know the meaning of justice, O gods?
Do you think the sons of men have any worth?
No, you plot injustice in your hearts, as frauds;
and mete out the violence of your hands on earth.

​From birth are the wicked born sinners and rakes;
they start spitting lies from the womb, it appears.
The poison they spread is like venom of snakes;
like cobras and adders that stop up their ears,

ignoring the spells that the snake charmer knows,
no matter how skillful that tune has been played.
God, shatter the teeth in the mouths of my foes;
defang every lion who's made me afraid. 

Like waters that run off and vanish with time;
like headless-tipped arrows — where no harm is done;
let them be like slugs melting in their own slime;
or that of a stillborn, not seeing the sun. ​

Before cooking pots feel the heat of thorns burn,
the wicked will be swept away in God's flood.
The just will rejoice when they see vengeance turn;
their feet will be bathed in the wicked's own blood.

And then, in the end, all the people will say,
There certainly is a reward of great worth
reserved for the righteous who follow God's way!
For there is a just God who judges the earth.