Only Version ❧ CM/CMD · 8·6·8·6 (D)
To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David.
1 I in the Lord do put my trust: how is it then that ye Say to my soul, Flee, as a bird, unto your mountain high?
2 For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, their shafts on string they fit, That those who upright are in heart they privily may hit.
3 If the foundations be destroy’d, what hath the righteous done? 4 God in his holy temple is, in heaven is his throne:
His eyes do see, his eye-lids try 5 men’s sons. The just he proves: But his soul hates the wicked man, and him that vi’lence loves.
6 Snares, fire and brimstone, furious storms, on sinners he shall rain: This, as the portion of their cup, doth unto them pertain.
7 Because the Lord most righteous doth in righteousness delight; And with a pleasant countenance beholdeth the upright.