Psalm 11
11:1 In
put I my trust: How say ye to my soul, Flee as a
bird to your mountain?
11:2 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.
11:3 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?
11:4
is in his holy temple,
's throne is in heaven:
his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.
11:5
trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that
loveth violence his soul hateth.
11:6 Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
11:7 For the righteous
loveth righteousness; his
countenance doth behold the upright.