Psalm 11 (In Domino confido)

Since I do trust Iehoua still,
Your fearfull wordes why do you spill?
That like a bird to some strong hill
I now should fall a flyeng.

Behould the evill have bent their bow,
And sett their arrowes in a row,
To give unwares a mortall blow
To hartes that hate all lyeng:

But that in building they begunn
With ground-plotts fall, shall be undunn:
For what, alas, have just men donn?
In them no cause is growing.

God in his holy temple is:
The throne of heav'n is only his:
Naught his all seeing sight can misse;
His ey-lidds peise our going.

The Lord doth search the just man's reynes,
But hates, abhorrs, the wicked brains,
On them stormes, brimstone, coales he raines:
That is their share assigned.

But so of happy other side
His lovely face on them doth bide,
In race of life their feete to guide
Who be to God enclined.