Salme 144
1 Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
BY DAVID. Blessed [is] YHWH my Rock, Who is teaching My hands for war, My fingers for battle.
2 min Miskundhed og min Fæstning, min Klippeborg, min Frelser, mit Skjold og den, jeg lider paa, som underlægger mig Folkeslag!
My kind one, and my bulwark, My tower, and my deliverer, My shield, and in whom I have trusted, Who is subduing my people under me!
3 HERRE, hvad er et Menneske, at du kendes ved det, et Menneskebarn, at du agter paa ham?
YHWH, what [is] man that You know him? The son of man, that You esteem him?
4 Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
Man has been like a breath, His days [are] as a shadow passing by.
5 HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
YHWH, incline Your heavens and come down, Strike against mountains, and they smoke.
6 slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
Send forth lightning, and scatter them, Send forth Your arrows, and trouble them,
7 udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
Send forth Your hand from on high, Free me, and deliver me from many waters, From the hand of sons of a stranger,
8 fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Because their mouth has spoken vanity, And their right hand [is] a right hand of falsehood.
9 Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
O God, I sing to You a new song, I sing praise to You on a stringed instrument of ten strings.
10 du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
Who is giving deliverance to kings, Who is freeing His servant David from the sword of evil.
11 Fri mig fra det onde Sværd, frels mig fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Free me, and deliver me From the hand of sons of a stranger, Because their mouth has spoken vanity, And their right hand [is] a right hand of falsehood,
12 I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
Because our sons [are] as plants, Becoming great in their youth, Our daughters as hewn stones, Polished—the likeness of a palace,
13 vore Forraadskamre er fulde, de yder Forraad paa Forraad, vore Hjorde føder Tusinder, Titusinder paa vore Marker,
Our granaries [are] full, bringing out from kind to kind, Our flocks are bringing forth thousands, Ten thousands in our out-places,
14 fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
Our oxen are carrying, there is no breach, And there is no outgoing, And there is no crying in our broad places.
15 Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
O the blessedness of the people that is thus, O the blessedness of the people whose God [is] YHWH!
