Job 4
1 Så tog Temaniten Elifaz til Orde og sagde:
And Eliphaz the Temanite answereth and saith: —
2 Ærgrer det dig, om man taler til dig? Men hvem kan her være tavs?
Hath one tried a word with thee? — Thou art weary! And to keep in words who is able?
3 Du har selv talt mange til Rette og styrket de slappe Hænder,
Lo, thou hast instructed many, And feeble hands thou makest strong.
4 dine Ord holdt den segnende oppe, vaklende Knæ gav du Kraft.
The stumbling one do thy words raise up, And bowing knees thou dost strengthen.
5 Men nu det gælder dig selv, så taber du Modet, nu det rammer dig selv, er du slaget af Skræk!
But now, it cometh in unto thee, And thou art weary; It striketh unto thee, and thou art troubled.
6 Er ikke din Gudsfrygt din Tillid, din fromme Færd dit Håb?
Is not thy reverence thy confidence? Thy hope — the perfection of thy ways?
7 Tænk efter! Hvem gik uskyldig til Grunde, hvor gik retsindige under?
Remember, I pray thee, Who, being innocent, hath perished? And where have the upright been cut off?
8 Men det har jeg set: Hvo Uret pløjer og sår Fortræd, de høster det selv.
As I have seen — ploughers of iniquity, And sowers of misery, reap it!
9 For Guds Ånd går de til Grunde, for hans Vredes Pust går de til.
From the breath of God they perish, And from the spirit of His anger consumed.
10 Løvens Brøl og Vilddyrets Glam Ungløvernes Tænder slås ud;
The roaring of a lion, And the voice of a fierce lion, And teeth of young lions have been broken.
11 Løven omkommer af Mangel på Rov, og Løveungerne spredes.
An old lion is perishing without prey, And the whelps of the lioness do separate.
12 Der sneg sig til mig et Ord mit Øre opfanged dets Hvisken
And unto me a thing is secretly brought, And receive doth mine ear a little of it.
13 i Nattesynernes Tanker, da Dvale sank over Mennesker;
In thoughts from visions of the night, In the falling of deep sleep on men,
14 Angst og Skælven kom over mig, alle mine Ledemod skjalv;
Fear hath met me, and trembling, And the multitude of my bones caused to fear.
15 et Pust strøg over mit Ansigt, Hårene rejste sig på min Krop.
And a spirit before my face doth pass, Stand up doth the hair of my flesh;
16 Så stod det stille! Jeg sansed ikke, hvordan det så ud; en Skikkelse stod for mit Øje, jeg hørte en hviskende Stemme:
It standeth, and I discern not its aspect, A similitude [is] over-against mine eyes, Silence! and a voice I hear:
17 "Har et Menneske Ret for Gud, mon en Mand er ren for sin Skaber?
'Is mortal man than God more righteous? Than his Maker is a man cleaner?
18 End ikke sine Tjenere tror han, hos sine Engle finder han Fejl,
Lo, in His servants He putteth no credence, Nor in His messengers setteth praise.'
19 endsige hos dem, der bor i en Hytte af Ler og har deres Grundvold i Støvet!
Also — the inhabitants of houses of clay, (Whose foundation [is] in the dust, They bruise them before a moth.)
20 De knuses ligesom Møl, imellem Morgen og Aften, de sønderslås uden at ænses, for evigt går de til Grunde.
From morning to evening are beaten down, Without any regarding, for ever they perish.
21 Rives ej deres Teltreb ud? De dør, men ikke i Visdom."
Hath not their excellency been removed with them? They die, and not in wisdom!
