Job 27
1 And Job adds to lift up his allegory and says:
Job heldt fram med talen sin og sagde:
2 “God lives! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty—He made my soul bitter.
«So sant Gud liver, som meg sveik, og Allvalds som meg volde sorg
3 For all the while my breath [is] in me, And the wind of God in my nostrils.
- for endå eg min ande dreg; i nosi mi er guddomspust -:
4 My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue does not utter deceit.
Urett ligg ei på mine lippor; mi tunga talar ikkje svik.
5 Defilement to me—if I justify you, Until I expire I do not turn aside my integrity from me.
D’er langt frå meg å gje’ dykk rett, mi uskyld held eg fast til dauden.
6 On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart does not reproach me while I live.
Mi rettferd held eg fast uskjepla, eg ingen dag treng skjemmast ved.
7 My enemy is as the wicked, And my withstander as the perverse.
Min fiend’ skal seg syna gudlaus, min motstandar som urettferdig.
8 For what [is] the hope of the profane, When He cuts off? When God casts off his soul?
Kva von hev en gudlaus att, når Gud vil sjæli or han draga?
9 [Does] God hear his cry, When distress comes on him?
Vil Gud vel høyra skriket hans, når trengsla bryt innyver honom?
10 Does he delight himself on the Mighty? Call God at all times?
Kann han i Allvald vel seg gleda? Kann han kvar tid påkalla Gud?
11 I show you by the hand of God, That which [is] with the Mighty I do not hide.
Eg um Guds hand vil læra dykk; kva Allvald vil, det dyl eg ikkje.
12 Behold, you—all of you—have seen, And why [is] this—you are altogether vain?
Sjå dette hev det alle set; kvi talar de då tome ord?
13 This [is] the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones They receive from the Mighty.
Den lut fær gudlause av Gud, den arven valdsmann fær av Allvald.
14 If his sons multiply—a sword [is] for them. And his offspring [are] not satisfied [with] bread.
Til sverdet veks hans søner upp; hans avkom mettast ei med brød;
15 His remnant are buried in death, And his widows do not weep.
dei siste legst i grav ved pest, og enkjorne held ingi klaga.
16 If he heaps up silver as dust, And prepares clothing as clay,
Og um han dyngjer sylv som dust og samlar klæde liksom leir:
17 He prepares—and the righteous puts [it] on, And the innocent apportions the silver.
Den rettvise tek klædi på; skuldlause skifter sylvet hans.
18 He has built his house as a moth, And as a shelter a watchman has made.
Han byggjer huset sitt som molen, likt hytta vaktmannen set upp.
19 He lies down rich, and he is not gathered, He has opened his eyes, and he is not.
Rik legg han seg - men aldri meir; han opnar augo - og er burte.
20 Terrors overtake him as waters, By night a whirlwind has stolen him away.
Som vatsflaum rædsla honom tek, ved natt riv stormen honom burt.
21 An east wind takes him up, and he goes, And it frightens him from his place,
Han driv av stad for austanvind, som blæs han frå hans heimstad burt.
22 And it casts at him, and does not spare, He diligently flees from its hand.
Han utan miskunn på han skyt; frå handi hans han røma må.
23 It claps its hands at him, And it hisses at him from his place.”
Med hender klappar dei åt han og pip han frå hans heimstad burt.
