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 (11:1)

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 (11:2)

If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do (11:3)

The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord'S throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men (11:4)

The Lord trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth (11:5)

Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup (11:6)

For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright (11:7)