012) Psalm 11

Psalm 11 To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.

8.6.8.6 1 I in the Lord do put my trust: how is it then that ye Say to my soul, Flee, as a bird, unto your mountain high?

2 For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, their shafts on string they fit, That those who upright are in heart they privily may hit.

3 If the foundations be destroy’d, what hath the righteous done?

4 God in his holy temple is, in heaven is his throne: His eyes do see, his eye-lids try 5 men’s sons. The just he proves: But his soul hates the wicked man, and him that vi’lence loves.

6 Snares, fire and brimstone, furious storms, on sinners he shall rain:

This, as the portion of their cup, doth unto them pertain.

7 Because the Lord most righteous doth in righteousness delight; And with a pleasant countenance beholdeth the upright.

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