Psalm 11

Psalm XI.

To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.

^aIn the Lord put I my trust:

^bHow say ye to my soul,

Flee as a bird to your mountain?

²For lo, ^cthe wicked bend their bow,

^dThey make ready their arrow upon the string,

That they may privily shoot at ^ethe upright in heart.

³If ^fthe foundations be destroyed,

What ^gcan the righteous do?

^4hThe Lord is in ⁱhis holy temple,

^kThe Lord’s throne is in heaven:

^lHis eyes behold,

His eyelids try, the children of men.

⁵The Lord ^mtrieth the righteous:

But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.

⁶Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and ⁿbrimstone,

And a ^ohorrible tempest: this shall be ^pthe portion of their cup.

⁷For the righteous Lord ^qloveth righteousness;

^rHis countenance doth behold the upright.