(To the choir-master. Of David.)

My trust is in the Lord; how is it that you say to me, Escape, like a frightened sparrow, to the hill-side?

Escape; the rebels have strung their bows, have arrows ready on the string, to shoot from their hiding-places at an unoffending heart;

they have thrown down all thou hadst built; what hope, now, for the just man?

Is not the Lord in his holy shrine, the same Lord whose throne is in heaven, whose eye watches, whose glance can appraise, the deeds of men?

Innocent or sinful, he reads every heart, and the friends of wrong-doing are his enemies.

Pitilessly his weapons rain down upon the offenders; burning coals, and brimstone, and scorching wind; such is the draught he brews for them.

The Lord is just, and just are the deeds he loves; none but upright souls shall enjoy his presence.