To the chief Musician—a Psalm of David
In God, I place my trust; soul why sound this word?
“Go to your high mountain, escape like a bird.
The wicked with bow bent, are aiming their dart,
to shoot in the darkness the upright in heart.
For if the foundation is broken in two,
what then can the righteous be given to do?”
The Lord’s in his temple, his throne’s in the sky:
His eyes behold men’s sons; his eyelids will try.
The Lord tries the righteous: the evil he rates,
and those who love violence his soul sorely hates.
So fire and brimstone on wicked rains snares;
with horrible tempest, this cup will be theirs.
The Lord He is righteous, He loves righteousness;
His countenance shining the upright to bless.