Psalms 11

1In the Lord put I my trust: 1 How say ye to my soul, 1 Flee as a bird to your mountain? 1

2For lo, the wicked bend their bow, 1 They make ready their arrow upon the string, 1 That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart. 1

3If the foundations be destroyed, 1 What can the righteous do? 1

4The Lord is in his holy temple, 1 The Lord’s throne is in heaven: 1 His eyes behold, 1 His eyelids try, the children of men. 1

5The Lord trieth the righteous: 1 But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth. 1

6Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, 1 And a horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup. 1

7For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness; 1 His countenance doth behold the upright.

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