PSAL. XI.
IN the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soule, Flee as a bird to your mountain?
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IN the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soule, Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2 For lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string: that they way privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?
4 The Lord is in his holy Temple, the Lords throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eye-lids try the children of men.
5 The Lord tryeth the righteous; but the wicked, and him that loveth violence, his soul •…•…ateth.
6 Upon the wicked he shall rain snares fir•…•… and brimstone, and an horrible tempest, this shall be the portion of their cup.
7 For the righteous Lord loveth righteous∣nesse: his countenance doth behold the upright,