To the chief Musician, A Psalm of
David.
In the
Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee
as a bird to your mountain?
02 For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make
ready their arrow upon the string, that they may
privily shoot at the upright in heart.
03 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the
righteous do?
04 The Lord is in his holy temple, the Lord's
throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids
try, the children of men.
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05 The Lord trieth the righteous: but the wicked
and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
06 Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and
brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be
the portion of their cup.
07 For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
his countenance doth behold the upright.
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