Psalms 11

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

8(not in this translation)

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

9(not in this translation)

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