11
To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.
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 an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.† 7  For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright.
* 11:2 privily: Heb. in darkness † 11:6 an horrible…: or, a burning tempest