Salme 144
1 Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
A Psalm. Of David. Praise be to the God of my strength, teaching my hands the use of the sword, and my fingers the art of fighting:
2 min Miskundhed og min Fæstning, min Klippeborg, min Frelser, mit Skjold og den, jeg lider paa, som underlægger mig Folkeslag!
He is my strength, and my Rock; my high tower, and my saviour; my keeper and my hope: he gives me authority over my people.
3 HERRE, hvad er et Menneske, at du kendes ved det, et Menneskebarn, at du agter paa ham?
Lord, what is man, that you keep him in mind? or the son of man that you take him into account?
4 Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
Man is like a breath: his life is like a shade which is quickly gone.
5 HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
Come down, O Lord, from your heavens: at your touch let the mountains give out smoke.
6 slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
With your storm-flames send them in flight: send out your arrows for their destruction.
7 udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
Put out your hand from on high; make me free, take me safely out of the great waters, and out of the hands of strange men;
8 fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
In whose mouths are false words, and whose right hand is a right hand of deceit.
9 Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
I will make a new song to you, O God; I will make melody to you on an instrument of ten cords.
10 du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
It is God who gives salvation to kings; and who kept his servant David from the wounding sword.
11 Fri mig fra det onde Sværd, frels mig fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Make me free, and take me out of the hands of strange men, in whose mouths are false words, and whose right hand is a right hand of deceit.
12 I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
Our sons are like tall young plants; and our daughters like the shining stones of a king's house;
13 vore Forraadskamre er fulde, de yder Forraad paa Forraad, vore Hjorde føder Tusinder, Titusinder paa vore Marker,
Our store-houses are full of all good things; and our sheep give birth to thousands and ten thousands in our fields.
14 fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
Our oxen are well weighted down; our cows give birth safely; there is no going out, and there is no cry of sorrow in our open places.
15 Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
Happy is the nation whose ways are so ordered: yes, happy is the nation whose God is the Lord.
