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?

2  For lo, cthe wicked bend their bow,

dThey make ready their arrow upon the string,

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

3  If fthe foundations be destroyed,

What gcan the righteous do?

4  hThe Lord is in ihis holy temple,

kThe Lord’s throne is in heaven:

lHis eyes behold,

His eyelids try, the children of men.

5  The Lord mtrieth the righteous:

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

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

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

7  For the righteous Lord qloveth righteousness;

rHis countenance doth behold the upright.