[To the chiefe Musician.
A Psalme of Dauid.]
In the Lord put I my trust: how say yee to my soule, Flee as a bird to your mountaine?
For loe, the wicked bende their bow, they make ready their arrow vpon the string: that they may priuily shoote at the vpright in heart.
If the foundations bee destroyed: what can the righteous doe?
The Lord is in his holy Temple, the Lords Throne is in heauen: his eyes beholde, his eye lids trie the children of men.
The Lord trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loueth violence, his soule hateth.
Upon the wicked hee shall raine snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
For the righteous Lord loueth righteousnesse: his countenance doeth behold the vpright.