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Psalms 11
a
In
the
Lord
put
I
my
trust:
how
say
ye
to
my
soul,
Flee
as
a
bird
to
your
mountain?
2 For,
lo,
the
wicked
bend
their
bow,
they
make
ready
their
arrow
upon
the
string,
that
they
may
privily
a
shoot
at
the
upright
in
heart.
3 If
the
a
foundations
be
destroyed,
what
can
the
righteous
do?
4 The
Lord
is
in
his
holy
temple,
the
Lord's
a
throne
is
in
b
heaven:
his
eyes
behold,
his
eyelids
try,
the
children
of
men.
5 The
Lord
a
trieth
the
righteous:
but
the
wicked
and
him
that
loveth
violence
his
soul
hateth.
6 Upon
the
a
wicked
he
shall
rain
snares,
fire
and
brimstone,
and
an
horrible
tempest:
this
shall
be
the
portion
of
their
cup.
7 For
the
righteous
Lord
loveth
a
righteousness;
b
his
countenance
doth
behold
the
upright.
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