< Salme 144 >

1 Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
Of David. Blest be the Lord my rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for fighting.
2 min Miskundhed og min Fæstning, min Klippeborg, min Frelser, mit Skjold og den, jeg lider paa, som underlægger mig Folkeslag!
My rock and my fortress, my tower, my deliverer, my shield, behind whom I take refuge, who lays nations low at my feet.
3 HERRE, hvad er et Menneske, at du kendes ved det, et Menneskebarn, at du agter paa ham?
Lord, what are mortals that you care for them, humans, that you think of them?
4 Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
They are like a breath, their days as a shadow that passes.
5 HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
Lord, bow your heavens and come down: touch the hills, so that they smoke.
6 slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
Flash forth lightning and scatter them, your arrows send forth and confound them.
7 udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
Stretch out your hand from on high; pluck me out of the mighty waters, out of the hands of foreigners,
8 fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
who speak with the mouth of falsehood, and lift their right hand to swear lies.
9 Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
O God, a new song I would sing you, on a ten-stringed harp make you music.
10 du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
For to kings you give the victory, and David your servant you save.
11 Fri mig fra det onde Sværd, frels mig fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
Snatch me from the cruel sword, rescue me from the hand of foreigners, who speak with the mouth of falsehood, and lift their right hand to swear lies.
12 I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
May our sons in their youth be as plants well tended: our daughters like cornices carved as in palaces.
13 vore Forraadskamre er fulde, de yder Forraad paa Forraad, vore Hjorde føder Tusinder, Titusinder paa vore Marker,
May our barns be bursting with produce of all kinds. In the fields may our sheep bear by thousands and ten thousands.
14 fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
May our cattle be fat, our walls unbreached, may no cry of distress ring in our streets.
15 Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
Happy the people who fares so well: and so fares the people whose God is the Lord.

< Salme 144 >