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.
Source: Scottish Psalter and Paraphrases #P12