Salme 144
1 Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and my fingers to 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 support, and my deliverer: My protector, and I have hoped in him: who subdueth 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 thou art made known to him? or the son of man, that thou makest account of him?
4 Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
Man is like to vanity: his days pass away like a shadow.
5 HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
Lord, bow down thy heavens and descend: touch the mountains and they shall smoke.
6 slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
Send forth lightning, and thou shalt scatter them: shoot out thy arrows, and thou shalt trouble them.
7 udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
Put forth thy hand from on high, take me out, and deliver me from many waters: from the hand of strange children:
8 fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Whose mouth hath spoken vanity: and their right hand is the right hand of iniquity.
9 Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
To thee, O God, I will sing a new canticle: on the psaltery and an instrument of ten strings I will sing praises to thee.
10 du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
Who givest salvation to kings: who hast redeemed thy servant David from the malicious 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 out of the hand of strange children; whose mouth hath spoken vanity: and their right hand is the right hand of iniquity:
12 I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
Whose sons are as new plants in their youth: Their daughters decked out, adorned round about 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 storehouses full, flowing out of this into that. Their sheep fruitful in young, abounding in their goings forth:
14 fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
Their oxen fat. There is no breach of wall, nor passage, nor crying out in their streets.
15 Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
They have called the people happy, that hath these things: but happy is that people whose God is the Lord.
