Habakkuk 3
1 En Bøn af Profeten Habakkuk. Al-sjigjonot.
A prayer by Habakkuk the prophet, —in the manner of an Ode.
2 HERRE, jeg har hørt dit Ry, jeg har skuet din Gerning, HERRE. Fuldbyrd det i Aarenes Løb, aabenbar dig i Aarenes Løb, kom Barmhjertighed i Hu under Vreden!
O Yahweh, I have heard tidings of thee, I am afraid. O Yahweh! Thy work—in the midst of the years, O revive it, in the midst of the years, wilt thou make known? In trouble, wilt thou remember, compassion?
3 Gud drager frem fra Teman, den Hellige fra Parans Bjerge. (Sela) Hans Højhed skjuler Himlen, hans Herlighed fylder Jorden.
GOD, from Teman, cometh in, and, the Holy One, from Mount Paran. (Selah) His splendour, hath covered the heavens, and, his praise, hath filled the earth:
4 Under ham er Glans som Ild, fra hans Side udgaar Straaler; der er hans Vælde i Skjul.
And, a brightness, as light, appeareth, Rays, out of his hand, hath he, —and, there, is the hiding of his power.
5 Foran ham vandrer Pest, og efter ham følger Sot.
Before him, marcheth pestilence, —and fever, goeth forth, at his feet:
6 Hans Fjed faar Jorden til at skælve, hans Blik faar Folk til at bæve. De ældgamle Bjerge brister, de evige Høje synker, ad evige Stier gaar han.
He hath stood and measured the earth, he hath looked, and caused nations to tremble, and, scattered as dust, are the perpetual mountains, and, sunk, are the age-abiding hills, —Forthgoings age-abiding, are his.
7 Kusjans Telte bæver, Telttæpperne i Midjans Land.
Under distress, saw I the tents of Ethiopia, —tremble, do the curtains of the land of Midian.
8 Er HERREN da vred paa Strømmene, gælder din Vrede Strømmene, gælder din Harme Havet, siden du farer frem paa dine Heste og dine Vogne drøner.
Against the rivers, is Yahweh wroth? Against the rivers, is thine anger? Against the sea, is thine indignation? For thou wilt ride on Thy horses, Thy chariots, [shall be] salvation!
9 Din Bue kom blottet til Syne, din Buestreng mætter du med Pile. (Sela) Du kløver Jorden i Strømme,
To nakedness, is bared thy bow, oaths of chastisement—song! (Selah) With rivers, thou dost cleave open the land.
10 Bjergene ser dig og skælver. Skyerne nedsender Regnskyl, og Afgrunden løfter sin Røst.
The mountains, have seen thee—they tremble, a downpour of waters, hath passed along, —the roaring deep, hath given forth, his voice, on high—his hand, hath he uplifted.
11 Solen glemmer at staa op, Maanen bliver i sit Bo; de flygter for Skinnet af dine Pile, for Glansen af dit lynende Spyd.
Sun, moon, have stood still, on high, —like light, thine arrows, speed along, like brightness, is the flash of thy spear.
12 I Harme skrider du hen over Jorden, du nedtramper Folk i Vrede.
In wrath, dost thou stride through the land, —in anger, dost thou thresh the nations.
13 Du drager ud til Frelse for dit Folk, ud for at frelse din Salvede. Du knuser den gudløses Hustag, blotter Grunden til Klippen. (Sela)
Thou hast come forth to the salvation of thy people, to salvation, with thine Anointed One, —Thou hast crushed the Head out of the house of the lawless one, baring the foundation up to the neck, (Selah)
14 Med dit Spyd gennemborer du hans Hoved, hans Høvdinger splittes.
Thou hast pierced, with his own staves, the head of his chiefs, they storm along, to scatter me, —their exultant thought, is, in very deed, to devour the oppressed one, in a secret place!
15 Du tramper hans Heste i Havet, i de mange Vandes Dynd.
Thou hast driven, into the sea, thy chariot-horses. Foaming are the mighty waters!
16 Jeg hørte det; da bæved min Krop, ved Braget skjalv mine Læber; Edder for i mine Ben, og under mig vakled mine Skridt. Jeg bier paa Trængselens Dag over Folket, som volder os Krig.
I heard, and I trembled within me, at the voice, my lips, quivered, decay, entered, my bones, and, in my limbs, I trembled, —though I am to find rest, in the day of distress, when their invader, cometh up against the people.
17 Thi Figentræet blomstrer ikke, Vinstokken giver intet, Olietræets Afgrøde svigter, Markerne giver ej Føde. Faarene svandt af Folden, i Staldene findes ej Okser.
Though, the fig-tree, should not blossom, and there be no sprouting in the vines, the yield of the olive, should have deceived, and, the fields, not have brought forth food, —the flock, have been consumed out of the fold, and there be no herd in the stalls,
18 Men jeg vil frydes i HERREN, juble i min Frelses Gud.
Yet, I, in Yahweh, will rejoice, —I will exult in the God of my salvation.
19 Den Herre HERREN er min Styrke, han gør mine Fødder som Hindens og lader mig gaa paa mine Høje. Til Sangmesteren. Med Strengespil.
Yahweh, My Lord, is my strength, therefore hath he made my feet like hinds, and, upon my high places, will he cause me to march along. To the chief musician, on my double harp.
