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Psalm 11
To
the
chief
Musician,
A
Psalm
of
David.
In
the
Lord
put
I
my
trust:
how
say
ye
to
my
soul,
Flee
as
a
bird
to
your
mountain?
2
For,
lo,
the
wicked
bend
their
bow,
they
make
ready
their
arrow
upon
the
string,
that
they
may
privily
shoot
at
the
upright
in
heart.
3
If
the
foundations
be
destroyed,
what
can
the
righteous
do?
4
The
Lord
is
in
his
holy
temple,
the
Lord’s
throne
is
in
heaven:
his
eyes
behold,
his
eyelids
try,
the
children
of
men.
5
The
Lord
trieth
the
righteous:
but
the
wicked
and
him
that
loveth
violence
his
soul
hateth.
6
Upon
the
wicked
he
shall
rain
snares,
fire
and
brimstone,
and
an
horrible
tempest:
this
shall
be
the
portion
of
their
cup.
7
For
the
righteous
Lord
loveth
righteousness;
his
countenance
doth
behold
the
upright.
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