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Psalm 11

To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.


1I in the Lord do put my trust:

how is it then that ye

Say to my soul, Flee, as a bird,

unto your mountain high?

2For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,

their shafts on string they fit,

That those who upright are in heart

they privily may hit.

3If the foundations be destroy’d,

what hath the righteous done?

4God in his holy temple is,

in heaven is his throne:

His eyes do see, his eye-lids try

5men’s sons. The just he proves:

But his soul hates the wicked man,

and him that vi’lence loves.

6Snares, fire and brimstone, furious storms,

on sinners he shall rain:

This, as the portion of their cup,

doth unto them pertain.

7Because the Lord most righteous doth

in righteousness delight;

And with a pleasant countenance

beholdeth the upright.

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