Salme 144
1 Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
[A Psalm] of David concerning Goliad. Blessed [be] the Lord my God, who instructs my hands for battle, [and] my fingers for war.
2 min Miskundhed og min Fæstning, min Klippeborg, min Frelser, mit Skjold og den, jeg lider paa, som underlægger mig Folkeslag!
My mercy, and my refuge; my helper, and my deliverer; my protector, in whom I have trusted; who subdues my people under me.
3 HERRE, hvad er et Menneske, at du kendes ved det, et Menneskebarn, at du agter paa ham?
Lord, what is man, that you are made known to him? or the son of man, that you take account of him?
4 Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
Man is like to vanity: his days pass as a shadow.
5 HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
O Lord, bow your heavens, and come down: touch the mountains, and they shall smoke.
6 slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
Send lightning, and you shall scatter them: send forth your arrows, and you shall discomfit them.
7 udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
Send forth your hand from on high; rescue me, and deliver me out of great waters, out of the hand of strange children;
8 fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
whose mouth has spoken vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of iniquity.
9 Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
O God, I will sing a new song to you: I will play to you on a lute of ten strings.
10 du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
[Even] to him who gives salvation to kings: who redeems his servant David from the hurtful sword.
11 Fri mig fra det onde Sværd, frels mig fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Deliver me, and rescue me from the hand of strange children, whose mouth has spoken vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of iniquity;
12 I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
whose children are as plants, strengthened in their youth: their daughters are beautiful, sumptuously adorned after the similitude of a temple.
13 vore Forraadskamre er fulde, de yder Forraad paa Forraad, vore Hjorde føder Tusinder, Titusinder paa vore Marker,
Their garners are full, and bursting with one kind of store after another; their sheep are prolific, multiplying in their streets.
14 fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
Their oxen are fat: there is no falling down of a hedge, nor going out, nor cry in their folds.
15 Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
Men bless the people to whom this lot belongs, [but] blessed is the people whose God is the Lord.
