Job 27
1 And Job adds to lift up his allegory and says:
Job vedblev at fremsætte sit Tankesprog:
2 “God lives! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty—He made my soul bitter.
Saa sandt Gud lever, som satte min Ret til Side, den Almægtige, som gjorde mig mod i Hu:
3 For all the while my breath [is] in me, And the wind of God in my nostrils.
Saa længe jeg drager Aande og har Guds Aande i Næsen,
4 My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue does not utter deceit.
skal mine Læber ej tale Uret, min Tunge ej fare med Svig!
5 Defilement to me—if I justify you, Until I expire I do not turn aside my integrity from me.
Langt være det fra mig at give jer Ret; til jeg udaander, opgiver jeg ikke min Uskyld.
6 On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart does not reproach me while I live.
Jeg hævder min Ret, jeg slipper den ikke, ingen af mine Dage piner mit Sind.
7 My enemy is as the wicked, And my withstander as the perverse.
Som den gudløse gaa det min Fjende, min Modstander som den lovløse!
8 For what [is] the hope of the profane, When He cuts off? When God casts off his soul?
Thi hvad er den vanhelliges Haab, naar Gud bortskærer og kræver hans Sjæl?
9 [Does] God hear his cry, When distress comes on him?
Hører mon Gud hans Skrig, naar Angst kommer over ham?
10 Does he delight himself on the Mighty? Call God at all times?
Mon han kan fryde sig over den Almægtige, føjer han ham, naar han paakalder ham?
11 I show you by the hand of God, That which [is] with the Mighty I do not hide.
Jeg vil lære jer om Guds Haand, den Almægtiges Tanker dølger jeg ikke;
12 Behold, you—all of you—have seen, And why [is] this—you are altogether vain?
se, selv har I alle set det, hvi har I saa tomme Tanker?
13 This [is] the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones They receive from the Mighty.
Det er den gudløses Lod fra Gud, Arven, som Voldsmænd faar fra den Almægtige:
14 If his sons multiply—a sword [is] for them. And his offspring [are] not satisfied [with] bread.
Vokser hans Sønner, er det for Sværdet, hans Afkom mættes ikke med Brød;
15 His remnant are buried in death, And his widows do not weep.
de øvrige bringer Pesten i Graven, deres Enker kan ej holde Klage over dem.
16 If he heaps up silver as dust, And prepares clothing as clay,
Opdynger han Sølv som Støv og samler sig Klæder som Ler —
17 He prepares—and the righteous puts [it] on, And the innocent apportions the silver.
han samler, men den retfærdige klæder sig i dem, og Sølvet arver den skyldfri;
18 He has built his house as a moth, And as a shelter a watchman has made.
han bygger sit Hus som en Edderkops, som Hytten, en Vogter gør sig;
19 He lies down rich, and he is not gathered, He has opened his eyes, and he is not.
han lægger sig rig, men for sidste Gang, han slaar Øjnene op, og er det ej mer;
20 Terrors overtake him as waters, By night a whirlwind has stolen him away.
Rædsler naar ham som Vande, ved Nat river Stormen ham bort;
21 An east wind takes him up, and he goes, And it frightens him from his place,
løftet af Østenstorm farer han bort, den fejer ham væk fra hans Sted.
22 And it casts at him, and does not spare, He diligently flees from its hand.
Skaanselsløst skyder han paa ham, i Hast maa han fly fra hans Haand;
23 It claps its hands at him, And it hisses at him from his place.”
man klapper i Hænderne mod ham og piber ham bort fra hans Sted!
