Psalms 11

1To 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?

2For, lo, the wicked bend [their] bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.

3If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?

4The LORD [is] in his holy temple, the LORD’s throne [is] in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.

5The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.

6Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: [this shall be] the portion of their cup.

7For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright.