11:1 To
the
chiefe
Musician.
A
Psalme
of
Dauid.
In
the
Lord
put
I
my
trust:
how
say
yee
to
my
soule,
Flee
as
a
bird
to
your
mountaine
11:2 For
loe,
the
wicked
bende
their
bow,
they
make
ready
their
arrow
vpon
the
string:
that
they
may
priuily
shoote
at
the
vpright
in
heart.
11:3 If
the
foundations
bee
destroyed:
what
can
the
righteous
doe
11:4 The
Lord
is
in
his
holy
Temple,
the
Lords
Throne
is
in
heauen:
his
eyes
beholde,
his
eye
lids
trie
the
children
of
men.
11:5 The
Lord
trieth
the
righteous:
but
the
wicked
and
him
that
loueth
violence,
his
soule
hateth.
11:6 Upon
the
wicked
hee
shall
raine
snares,
fire
and
brimstone,
and
an
horrible
tempest:
this
shall
be
the
portion
of
their
cup.
11:7 For
the
righteous
Lord
loueth
righteousnesse:
his
countenance
doeth
behold
the
vpright.
