To the chiefe musition, a psalme of Dauid. In God I put my trust: howe say ye then to my soule, that she shoulde flee as a byrde from your hyll.

For lo, the vngodly haue bende their bowe: and nocked their arrowes with the string, redy to shoote priuily at them whiche are vpright in heart.

For if the foundations shalbe caste downe: what must the righteous do?

But God is in his holy temple, Gods throne is in heauen: his eyes looke downe, his eye liddes tryeth the chyldren of men.

God wyll trye the righteous: but his soule abhorreth the vngodly, and hym that delighteth in wickednes.

Upon ye vngodly he wyl rayne snares, fire and brimstone: and tempestious stormes shalbe their portion to drinke.

For God most righteous, loueth righteousnes: his countenaunce wyll beholde the iust.