Job 30
1 But now those who are younger than I make sport of me; those whose fathers I would not have put with the dogs of my flocks.
Nu derimod ler de ad mig, Folk, der er yngre end jeg, hvis Fædre jeg fandt for ringe at sætte iblandt mine Hyrdehunde.
2 Of what use is the strength of their hands to me? all force is gone from them.
Og hvad skulde jeg med deres Hænders Kraft? Deres Ungdomskraft har de mistet,
3 They are wasted for need of food, biting the dry earth; their only hope of life is in the waste land.
tørrede hen af Trang og Sult. De afgnaver Ørk og Ødemark
4 They are pulling off the salt leaves from the brushwood, and making a meal of roots.
og plukker Melde ved Krattet, Gyvelrødder er deres Brød.
5 They are sent out from among their townsmen, men are crying after them as thieves
Fra Samfundet drives de bort, som ad Tyve raabes der efter dem.
6 They have to get a resting-place in the hollows of the valleys, in holes of the earth and rocks.
De bor i Kløfter, fulde af Rædsler, i Jordens og Klippernes Huler.
7 They make noises like asses among the brushwood; they get together under the thorns.
De brøler imellem Buske, i Tornekrat kommer de sammen,
8 They are sons of shame, and of men without a name, who have been forced out of the land.
en dum og navnløs Æt, de joges med Hug af Lande.
9 And now I have become their song, and I am a word of shame to them.
Men nu er jeg Haansang for dem, jeg er dem et Samtaleemne;
10 I am disgusting to them; they keep away from me, and put marks of shame on me.
de afskyr mig, holder sig fra mig, nægter sig ikke af spytte ad mig.
11 For he has made loose the cord of my bow, and put me to shame; he has sent down my flag to the earth before me.
Thi han løste min Buestreng, ydmyged mig, og foran mig kasted de Tøjlerne af.
12 The lines of his men of war put themselves in order, and make high their ways of destruction against me:
Til højre rejser sig Ynglen, Fødderne slaar de fra mig, bygger sig Ulykkesveje imod mig;
13 They have made waste my roads, with a view to my destruction; his bowmen come round about me;
min Sti har de opbrudt, de hjælper med til mit Fald, og ingen hindrer dem i det;
14 As through a wide broken place in the wall they come on, I am overturned by the shock of their attack.
de kommer som gennem et gabende Murbrud, vælter sig frem under Ruiner,
15 Fears have come on me; my hope is gone like the wind, and my well-being like a cloud.
Rædsler har vendt sig imod mig; min Værdighed joges bort som af Storm, min Lykke svandt som en Sky.
16 But now my soul is turned to water in me, days of trouble overtake me:
Min Sjæl opløser sig i mig; Elendigheds Dage har ramt mig:
17 The flesh is gone from my bones, and they give me no rest; there is no end to my pains.
Natten borer i mine Knogler, aldrig blunder de nagende Smerter.
18 With great force he takes a grip of my clothing, pulling me by the neck of my coat.
Med vældig Kraft vanskabes mit Kød, det hænger om mig, som var det min Kjortel.
19 Truly God has made me low, even to the earth, and I have become like dust.
Han kasted mig ud i Dynd, jeg er blevet som Støv og Aske.
20 You give no answer to my cry, and take no note of my prayer.
Jeg skriger til dig, du svarer mig ikke, du staar der og ænser mig ikke;
21 You have become cruel to me; the strength of your hand is hard on me.
grum er du blevet imod mig, forfølger mig med din vældige Haand.
22 Lifting me up, you make me go on the wings of the wind; I am broken up by the storm.
Du løfter og vejrer mig hen i Stormen, og dens Brusen gennemryster mig;
23 For I am certain that you will send me back to death, and to the meeting-place ordered for all living.
thi jeg ved, du fører mig hjem til Døden, til det Hus, hvor alt levende samles.
24 Has not my hand been stretched out in help to the poor? have I not been a saviour to him in his trouble?
Dog, mon den druknende ej rækker Haanden ud og raaber om Hjælp, naar han gaar under?
25 Have I not been weeping for the crushed? and was not my soul sad for him who was in need?
Mon ikke jeg græder over den, som havde det haardt, sørgede ikke min Sjæl for den fattiges Skyld?
26 For I was looking for good, and evil came; I was waiting for light, and it became dark.
Jeg biede paa Lykke, men Ulykke kom, jeg haabed paa Lys, men Mørke kom;
27 My feelings are strongly moved, and give me no rest; days of trouble have overtaken me.
ustandseligt koger det i mig, Elendigheds Dage traf mig;
28 I go about in dark clothing, uncomforted; I get up in the public place, crying out for help.
trøstesløs gaar jeg i Sorg, i Forsamlingen rejser jeg mig og raaber;
29 I have become a brother to the jackals, and go about in the company of ostriches.
Sjakalernes Broder blev jeg, Strudsenes Fælle.
30 My skin is black and dropping off me; and my bones are burning with the heat of my disease.
Min Hud er sort, falder af, mine Knogler brænder af Hede;
31 And my music has been turned to sorrow, and the sound of my pipe into the noise of weeping.
min Citer er blevet til Sorg, min Fløjte til hulkende Graad!
