Psalm 11

IN God, my trust is placed still;
Then, wherefor do you say,
That, as a bird vnto the hill,
My soul should fly away?
For, loe, their bow the wicked bend,
And arrowes they prepare,
That they, vnseene, their shafts may send,
At such as needie are.

If overthrowne the Ground-works lie,
What cann the best men do?
Gods holy seat, is heav'n on high,
And he must look therto.
Man-kinde, with closd, & open eyes,
(Ev'n righteous men) God prooues;
And, him he doth, in soul, despize,
That wicked Courses loves.

For wicked men, the Lord prepares,
(And raines into thir eupp)
A storme of brimstone, fire, & snares,
Which they must swallow up.
But, being in himself vpright,
He, justice doth affect;
And, godly men, have in his sight,
A looke of good respect.