Psalm 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.

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