To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David. In the LORDput I my trust: howsayye to my soul, Flee as a birdto your mountain? For, lo, the wickedbend their bow, they make readytheir arrowuponthe string, that they may privilyshootat the uprightin heart. Ifthe foundationsbe destroyed, whatcan the righteousdo? The LORD is in his holytemple, the LORD's throne is in heaven: his eyesbehold, his eyelidstry, the childrenof men. The LORDtrieththe righteous: but the wickedand him that lovethviolencehis soulhateth. Uponthe wickedhe shall rainsnares, fireand brimstone, and a horribletempest: this shall be the portionof their cup. Forthe righteousLORDlovethrighteousness; his countenancedoth beholdthe upright.