Job 30
1 Men nu le de ad mig, som ere yngre af Aar end jeg, de, hvis Fædre jeg vilde have forsmaaet at sætte hos mine Faarehunde.
But, now, they who are of fewer days than I, have poured derision upon me; whose fathers I refused—to set with the dogs of my flock.
2 Ja, hvortil skulde deres Hænders Kraft have gavnet mig? hos dem er Styrken svundet bort.
Even the strength of their hands, wherefore was it mine? Upon them, vigour was lost;
3 De ere udtærede af Mangel og Hunger, de afgnave den golde Ørk, i Ødelæggelsens og Fordærvelsens Nat;
In want and hunger, they were lean, —who used to gnaw the dry ground, a dark night of desolation!
4 de oprykke Katost ved Buskene, og Gyveltræets Rod er deres Føde;
Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, with the root of the broom for their food;
5 de uddrives fra Samfundet, man skriger efter dem som efter en Tyv;
Out of the midst, were they driven, men shouted after them, as after a thief;
6 de bo i Kløfter i Dalene, i Huler i Jorden og Klipper;
In the fissures, of the ravines had they to dwell, in holes of dust and crags;
7 imellem Buske skryde de, de samles under Nælder.
Among the bushes, used they to shriek, Under the bramble, were they huddled together:
8 Børn af Daarer, ja af Mænd uden Navn; de ere udstødte af Landet.
Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless, they were scourged out of the land.
9 Men nu er jeg bleven en Spottesang for dem og maa tjene dem til Snak.
But, now, their song, have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;
10 De have Vederstyggelighed til mig, de holde sig langt fra mig og spare ikke at spytte mig i Ansigtet.
They abhor me—have put themselves far from me, and, from my face, have not withheld—spittle!
11 Thi de have løst Tøjlen af sig og plaget mig, og de have kastet Bidselet af for mit Ansigt.
Because, my girdle, he had loosened and had humbled me, therefore, the bridle—in my presence, cast they off;
12 Til højre for mig staar en Yngel frem, de støde mine Fødder bort, og de bane deres Fordærvelses Veje imod mig;
On my right hand, the young brood rose up, —My feet, they thrust aside, and cast up against me their earthworks of destruction;
13 de bryde min Sti op, de hjælpe til min Ulykke, de have ingen Hjælper;
They brake up my path, —My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;
14 de komme som igennem et vidt Gab, de vælte sig frem under Bulder.
As through a wide breach, came they on, with a crashing noise, they rolled themselves along.
15 Rædsler ere vendte imod mig, som et Stormvejr forfølge de min Herlighed, og min Frelse er gaaet forbi som en Sky.
There are turned upon me terrors, —Chased away as with a wind, is mine abundance, and, as a cloud, hath passed away my prosperity.
16 Men nu er min Sjæl hensmeltet i mig, Elendigheds Dage komme over mig.
Now, therefore, over myself, my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:
17 Natten gennemborer mine Ben, saa at de falde af mig, og mine nagende Smerter hvile ikke.
Night, boreth, my bones, all over me, —and, my sinews, find no rest;
18 Ved den overvættes Magt er min Klædning helt forandret, den omslutter mig som Kraven paa min Underkjortel.
Most effectually, is my skin disfigured, —Like the collar of my tunic, it girdeth me about:
19 Han har kastet mig i Dyndet, og jeg er lignet ved Støv og Aske.
He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
20 Jeg skriger til dig, men du svarer mig ikke; jeg staar der, og du bliver ved at se paa mig.
I cry out for help unto thee, and thou dost not answer, I stand still, and thou dost gaze at me;
21 Du har forvendt dig til at være grum imod mig; du modstaar mig med din Haands Styrke.
Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand, thou assailest me;
22 Du løfter mig op i Stormvejret, du lader mig fare hen, og du lader mig forgaa i dets Brag.
Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, and the storm maketh me faint;
23 Thi jeg ved, du fører mig til Døden igen og til alle levendes Forsamlings Hus.
For I know that, unto death, thou wilt bring me back, even unto the house of meeting for every one living.
24 Mon en ikke udrækker Haanden i sit Fald? eller mon en ikke skriger i sin Ulykke?
Only, against a heap of ruins, will one not thrust a hand! Surely, when one is in calamity—for that very reason, is there an outcry for help.
25 Eller græd jeg ikke for den, som havde haarde Dage? ynkedes min Sjæl ikke over den fattige?
Verily I wept, for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul, for the needy.
26 Thi der jeg forventede godt, da kom det onde, og der jeg haabede til Lys, da kom Mørkhed.
Surely, for good, I looked, but there came in evil, And I waited for light, but there came in darkness;
27 Mine Indvolde syde og ere ikke stille; Elendigheds Dage ere komne over mig.
I boiled within me, and rested not, There confronted me—days of affliction;
28 Jeg gaar sort, uden Sol, jeg staar op, jeg skriger i Forsamlingen.
In gloom, I walked along, without sun, I arose—in the convocation, I cried out for help;
29 Jeg er bleven Dragers Broder og Strudses Stalbroder.
A brother, became I to the brutes that howl, and a companion to the birds that screech:
30 Min Hud er bleven sort og falder af mig, og Benene i mig brænde af Hede.
My skin, turned black, and peeled off me, and, my bones, burned with heat:
31 Og min Harpe er bleven til Sorrig, og min Fløjte til de grædendes Lyd.
Thus is attuned to mourning—my lyre, and my flute, to the noise of them who weep.
