Job 41
1 Kan du trække Krokodillen op med Krog og binde dens Tunge med Snøre?
Dost thou draw leviathan with an angle? And with a rope thou lettest down — his tongue?
2 Kan du mon stikke et Siv i dens Snude, bore en Krog igennem dens Kæber?
Dost thou put a reed in his nose? And with a thorn pierce his jaw?
3 Mon den vil trygle dig længe og give dig gode Ord?
Doth he multiply unto thee supplications? Doth he speak unto thee tender things?
4 Mon den vil indgaa en Pagt med dig, saa du faar den til Træl for evigt?
Doth he make a covenant with thee? Dost thou take him for a servant age-during?
5 Han du mon lege med den som en Fugl og tøjre den for dine Pigebørn?
Dost thou play with him as a bird? And dost thou bind him for thy damsels?
6 Falbyder Fiskerlauget den og stykker den ud mellem Sælgerne?
(Feast upon him do companions, They divide him among the merchants!)
7 Mon du kan spække dens Hud med Kroge og med Harpuner dens Hoved?
Dost thou fill with barbed irons his skin? And with fish-spears his head?
8 Læg dog engang din Haand paa den! Du vil huske den Kamp og gør det ej mer.
Place on him thy hand, Remember the battle — do not add!
9 Det Haab vilde blive til Skamme, alene ved Synet laa du der.
Lo, the hope of him is found a liar, Also at his appearance is not one cast down?
10 Ingen drister sig til at tirre den, hvem holder Stand imod den?
None so fierce that he doth awake him, And who [is] he before Me stationeth himself?
11 Hvem møder den og slipper fra det hvem under hele Himlen?
Who hath brought before Me and I repay? Under the whole heavens it [is] mine.
12 Jeg tier ej om dens Lemmer, hvor stærk den er, hvor smukt den er skabt.
I do not keep silent concerning his parts, And the matter of might, And the grace of his arrangement.
13 Hvem har trukket dens Klædning af, trængt ind i dens dobbelte Panser?
Who hath uncovered the face of his clothing? Within his double bridle who doth enter?
14 Hvem har aabnet dens Ansigts Døre? Rundt om dens Tænder er Rædsel.
The doors of his face who hath opened? Round about his teeth [are] terrible.
15 Dens Ryg er Reder af Skjolde, dens Bryst er et Segl af Sten;
A pride — strong ones of shields, Shut up — a close seal.
16 de sidder tæt ved hverandre, Luft kommer ikke ind derimellem;
One unto another they draw nigh, And air doth not enter between them.
17 de hænger fast ved hverandre, uadskilleligt griber de ind i hverandre.
One unto another they adhere, They stick together and are not separated.
18 Dens Nysen fremkalder straalende Lys, som Morgenrødens Øjenlaag er dens Øjne.
His sneezings cause light to shine, And his eyes [are] as the eyelids of the dawn.
19 Ud af dens Gab farer Fakler, Ildgnister spruder der frem.
Out of his mouth do flames go, sparks of fire escape.
20 Em staar ud af dens Næsebor som af en ophedet, kogende Kedel.
Out of his nostrils goeth forth smoke, As a blown pot and reeds.
21 Dens Aande tænder som glødende Kul, Luer staar ud af dens Gab.
His breath setteth coals on fire, And a flame from his mouth goeth forth.
22 Styrken bor paa dens Hals, og Angsten hopper foran den.
In his neck lodge doth strength, And before him doth grief exult.
23 Tæt sidder Kødets Knuder, som støbt til Kroppen; de rokkes ikke;
The flakes of his flesh have adhered — Firm upon him — it is not moved.
24 fast som Sten er dens Hjerte støbt, fast som den nederste Møllesten.
His heart [is] firm as a stone, Yea, firm as the lower piece.
25 Naar den rejser sig, gyser Helte, fra Sans og Samling gaar de af Skræk.
From his rising are the mighty afraid, From breakings they keep themselves free.
26 Angriberens Sværd holder ikke Stand, ej Kastevaaben, Spyd eller Pil.
The sword of his overtaker standeth not, Spear — dart — and lance.
27 Jern regner den kun for Halm og Kobber for trøsket Træ;
He reckoneth iron as straw, brass as rotten wood.
28 Buens Søn slaar den ikke paa Flugt, Slyngens Sten bliver Straa for den,
The son of the bow doth not cause him to flee, Turned by him into stubble are stones of the sling.
29 Stridskøllen regnes for Rør, den ler ad det svirrende Spyd.
As stubble have darts been reckoned, And he laugheth at the shaking of a javelin.
30 Paa Bugen er der skarpe Rande, dens Spor i Dyndet er som Tærskeslædens;
Under him [are] sharp points of clay, He spreadeth gold on the mire.
31 Dybet faar den i Kog som en Gryde, en Salvekedel gør den af Floden;
He causeth to boil as a pot the deep, The sea he maketh as a pot of ointment.
32 bag den er der en lysende Sti, Dybet synes som Sølverhaar.
After him he causeth a path to shine, One thinketh the deep to be hoary.
33 Dens Lige findes ikke paa Jord, den er skabt til ikke at frygte.
There is not on the earth his like, That is made without terror.
34 Alt, hvad højt er, ræddes for den, den er Konge over alle stolte Dyr.
Every high thing he doth see, He [is] king over all sons of pride.
