Psalms 11

1 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 a horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup. 7 For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness; His countenance doth behold the upright.