Psalms 11
To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.
1In the LORD put I my trust: How say ye to my soul, Flee <add>as</add> a bird to your mountain?2For, lo, the wicked bend <add>their</add> bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?
4The LORD <add>is</add> in his holy temple, the LORD’s throne <add>is</add> in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.
5The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: <add>this shall be</add> the portion of their cup.
7For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance doth behold the upright.