Job 17
1 Min Aand er brudt, mine Dage ere udslukkede, Gravene vente mig.
My spirit will be wasted, my days will be shortened, and only the grave will be left for me.
2 Er der ikke Spot omkring mig, og maa mit Øje ikke dvæle ved deres Genstridighed?
I have not sinned, yet my eye remains in bitterness.
3 Kære, stil mig Borgen hos dig, lov for mig; hvo er der ellers, der giver mig Haandslag?
Free me, O Lord, and set me beside you, and let the hand of anyone you wish fight against me.
4 Thi du har lukket deres Hjerte for Indsigt, derfor skal du ikke ophøje dem.
You have set their heart far from discipline; therefore, they will not be praised.
5 Man byder Venner ud til Bytte, og deres Børns Øjne hentæres.
He promises prey to his companions, but the eyes of his sons will grow faint.
6 Men han har stillet mig til at være et Ordsprog iblandt Folkene, og jeg er bleven som den, man spytter i Ansigtet.
He has posted me like a proverb to the people, and I am an example in their presence.
7 Derfor er mit Øje mørkt af Harm, og alle mine Lemmer ere som en Skygge.
My eyesight has been clouded by indignation, and my limbs have been reduced, as if to nothing.
8 For sligt maa de oprigtige forskrækkes, og den uskyldige harmes over den vanhellige.
The just will be astounded over this, and the innocent will be stirred up against the hypocrite.
9 Dog holder den retfærdige fast ved sin Vej, og den, som har rene Hænder, faar mere Styrke.
And the just will cling to his way, and clean hands will increase strength.
10 Men I, kommer kun alle frem igen, og jeg vil dog ikke finde en viis iblandt eder.
Therefore, be converted, all of you, and approach, for I do not find in you any wisdom.
11 Mine Dage ere gangne forbi; oprykkede ere mine Tanker, hvilke mit Hjerte besad.
My days have passed away; my thoughts have been scattered, tormenting my heart.
12 De gøre Nat til Dag; og Lyset skal være nær, naar Mørket kommer.
They have turned night into day, and I hope for light again after the darkness.
13 Dersom jeg end forventer noget, da er det Graven som min Bolig; jeg har redet mit Leje i Mørket. (Sheol h7585)
If I should wait, the underworld is my house, and in darkness I have spread out my bed. (Sheol h7585)
14 Jeg har raabt til Graven: Du er min Fader! til Ormen: Min Moder og min Søster!
I have said to decay and to worms: “You are my father, my mother, and my sister.”
15 Hvor skulde da min Forventelse være? ja min Forventelse — hvo skuer den?
Therefore, where is my expectation now, and who is it that considers my patience?
