Job 30
1 Nu derimod ler de ad mig, Folk, der er yngre end jeg, hvis Fædre jeg fandt for ringe at sætte iblandt mine Hyrdehunde.
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 Og hvad skulde jeg med deres Hænders Kraft? Deres Ungdomskraft har de mistet,
Even the strength of their hands, wherefore was it mine? Upon them, vigour was lost;
3 tørrede hen af Trang og Sult. De afgnaver Ørk og Ødemark
In want and hunger, they were lean, —who used to gnaw the dry ground, a dark night of desolation!
4 og plukker Melde ved Krattet, Gyvelrødder er deres Brød.
Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, with the root of the broom for their food;
5 Fra Samfundet drives de bort, som ad Tyve raabes der efter dem.
Out of the midst, were they driven, men shouted after them, as after a thief;
6 De bor i Kløfter, fulde af Rædsler, i Jordens og Klippernes Huler.
In the fissures, of the ravines had they to dwell, in holes of dust and crags;
7 De brøler imellem Buske, i Tornekrat kommer de sammen,
Among the bushes, used they to shriek, Under the bramble, were they huddled together:
8 en dum og navnløs Æt, de joges med Hug af Lande.
Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless, they were scourged out of the land.
9 Men nu er jeg Haansang for dem, jeg er dem et Samtaleemne;
But, now, their song, have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;
10 de afskyr mig, holder sig fra mig, nægter sig ikke af spytte ad mig.
They abhor me—have put themselves far from me, and, from my face, have not withheld—spittle!
11 Thi han løste min Buestreng, ydmyged mig, og foran mig kasted de Tøjlerne af.
Because, my girdle, he had loosened and had humbled me, therefore, the bridle—in my presence, cast they off;
12 Til højre rejser sig Ynglen, Fødderne slaar de fra mig, bygger sig Ulykkesveje 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 min Sti har de opbrudt, de hjælper med til mit Fald, og ingen hindrer dem i det;
They brake up my path, —My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;
14 de kommer som gennem et gabende Murbrud, vælter sig frem under Ruiner,
As through a wide breach, came they on, with a crashing noise, they rolled themselves along.
15 Rædsler har vendt sig imod mig; min Værdighed joges bort som af Storm, min Lykke svandt 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 Min Sjæl opløser sig i mig; Elendigheds Dage har ramt mig:
Now, therefore, over myself, my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:
17 Natten borer i mine Knogler, aldrig blunder de nagende Smerter.
Night, boreth, my bones, all over me, —and, my sinews, find no rest;
18 Med vældig Kraft vanskabes mit Kød, det hænger om mig, som var det min Kjortel.
Most effectually, is my skin disfigured, —Like the collar of my tunic, it girdeth me about:
19 Han kasted mig ud i Dynd, jeg er blevet som Støv og Aske.
He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
20 Jeg skriger til dig, du svarer mig ikke, du staar der og ænser mig ikke;
I cry out for help unto thee, and thou dost not answer, I stand still, and thou dost gaze at me;
21 grum er du blevet imod mig, forfølger mig med din vældige Haand.
Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand, thou assailest me;
22 Du løfter og vejrer mig hen i Stormen, og dens Brusen gennemryster mig;
Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, and the storm maketh me faint;
23 thi jeg ved, du fører mig hjem til Døden, til det Hus, hvor alt levende samles.
For I know that, unto death, thou wilt bring me back, even unto the house of meeting for every one living.
24 Dog, mon den druknende ej rækker Haanden ud og raaber om Hjælp, naar han gaar under?
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 Mon ikke jeg græder over den, som havde det haardt, sørgede ikke min Sjæl for den fattiges Skyld?
Verily I wept, for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul, for the needy.
26 Jeg biede paa Lykke, men Ulykke kom, jeg haabed paa Lys, men Mørke kom;
Surely, for good, I looked, but there came in evil, And I waited for light, but there came in darkness;
27 ustandseligt koger det i mig, Elendigheds Dage traf mig;
I boiled within me, and rested not, There confronted me—days of affliction;
28 trøstesløs gaar jeg i Sorg, i Forsamlingen rejser jeg mig og raaber;
In gloom, I walked along, without sun, I arose—in the convocation, I cried out for help;
29 Sjakalernes Broder blev jeg, Strudsenes Fælle.
A brother, became I to the brutes that howl, and a companion to the birds that screech:
30 Min Hud er sort, falder af, mine Knogler brænder af Hede;
My skin, turned black, and peeled off me, and, my bones, burned with heat:
31 min Citer er blevet til Sorg, min Fløjte til hulkende Graad!
Thus is attuned to mourning—my lyre, and my flute, to the noise of them who weep.
