Psalm 11

To the chief Musician. A Psalm of David.

1        I in the Lord do put my trust:

                   how is it then that ye

          Say to my soul, Flee, as a bird,

                   unto your mountain high?

2        For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,

                   their shafts on string they fit,

          That those who upright are in heart

                   they privily may hit.

3        If the foundations be destroy'd,

                   what hath the righteous done?

4        God in his holy temple is,

                   in heaven is his throne:

          His eyes do see, his eyelids try

5                 men's sons.  The just he proves:

          But his soul hates the wicked man,

                   and him that vi'lence loves.

6        Snares, fire and brimstone, furious storms,

                   on sinners he shall rain:

          This, as the portion of their cup,

                   doth unto them pertain.

7        Because the Lord most righteous doth

                   in righteousness delight;

          And with a pleasant countenance

                   beholdeth the upright.