Psalms 11

1 To the chief Musician, A Psalm of David. In the LORD I put my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain?

Til Sangmesteren. Af David. Jeg tager min Tilflugt til HERREN! Hvor kan I sige til min Sjæl: »Fly som en Fugl til Bjergene!

2 For, lo, the wicked bend their bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may secretly shoot at the upright in heart.

Thi se, de gudløse spænder Buen, lægger Pilen til Rette paa Strengen for i Mørke at ramme de oprigtige af Hjertet.

3 If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?

Naar selv Grundpillerne styrter, hvad gør den retfærdige da?«

4 The LORD is in his holy temple, the LORD’S throne is in heaven: his eyes behold, his eyelids try, the children of men.

HERREN er i sin hellige Hal, i Himlen er HERRENS Trone; paa Jorderig skuer hans Øjne ned, hans Blik ransager Menneskens Børn;

5 The LORD trieth the righteous: but the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.

retfærdige og gudløse ransager HERREN; dem, der elsker Uret, hader hans Sjæl;

6 Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.

over gudløse sender han Regn af Gløder og Svovl, et Stormvejr er deres tilmaalte Bæger.

7 For the righteous LORD loveth righteousness; his countenance beholdeth the upright.

Thi retfærdig er HERREN, han elsker at øve Retfærd, de oprigtige skuer hans Aasyn!