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Psalm 11.

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To the chief musician.

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A Psalm of David.

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the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to
my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?

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For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
they make ready their arrow upon

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the string, that they may privily
shoot at the upright in heart.

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If the foundations be destroyed,
what can the righteous do?

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The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord's
throne is in heaven: his eyes behold,

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his eyelids try, the children of men.

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The Lord trieth the righteous:
but the wicked and him that

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loveth violence his soul hateth.

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Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire
and brimstone, and an horrible tempest:

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this shall be the portion of their cup.

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For the righteous Lord loveth
righteousness; his countenance

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doth behold the upright.