Psalms 11

1Unto the end: for the octave, a psalm for David.

1In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?

2Save me, O Lord, for there is now no saint: truths are decayed from among the children of men.

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.

3They have spoken vain things, every one to his neighbour: with deceitful lips, and with a double heart have they spoken.

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

4May the Lord destroy all deceitful lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.

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

5Who have said: We will magnify our tongue: our lips are our own: who is Lord over us?

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

6By reason of the misery of the needy, and the groans of the poor, now will I arise, saith the Lord. I will set him in safety: I will deal confidently in his regard.

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

7The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried by the fire, purged from the earth, refined seven times.

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

8Thou, O Lord, wilt preserve us: and keep us from this generation for ever.

8(not in this translation)

9The wicked walk round about: according to thy highness, thou hast multiplied the children of men.

9(not in this translation)