Job 3
1 At length Job opened his mouth, and cursed the day of his birth.
Derefter oplod Job sin Mund og forbandede sin Dag,
2 And Job spake and said:
og Job tog til Orde og sagde:
3 Perish the day in which I was born, and the night which said, “A man-child is conceived!”
Bort med den Dag, jeg fødtes, den Nat, der sagde: »Se, en Dreng!«
4 Let that day be darkness; Let not God seek it from above; Yea, let not the light shine upon it!
Denne Dag vorde Mørke, Gud deroppe spørge ej om den, over den straale ej Lyset frem!
5 Let darkness and the shadow of death redeem it; Let a cloud dwell upon it; Let whatever darkeneth the day terrify it!
Mulm og Mørke løse den ind, Taage lægge sig over den, Formørkelser skræmme den!
6 As for that night, let darkness seize upon it; Let it not rejoice among the days of the year; Let it not come into the number of the months!
Mørket tage den Nat, den høre ej hjemme blandt Aarets Dage, den komme ikke i Maaneders Tal!
7 O let that night be unfruitful! Let there be in it no voice of joy;
Ja, denne Nat vorde gold, der lyde ej Jubel i den!
8 Let them that curse the day curse it, Who are skilful to stir up the leviathan!
De, der besværger Dage, forbande den, de, der har lært at hidse Livjatan;
9 Let the stars of its twilight be darkened; Let it long for light, and have none; Neither let it see the eyelashes of the morning!
dens Morgenstjerner formørkes, den bie forgæves paa Lys, den skue ej Morgenrødens Øjenlaag,
10 Because it shut not up the doors of my mother's womb, And hid not trouble from mine eyes.
fordi den ej lukked mig Moderlivets Døre og skjulte Kvide for mit Blik!
11 Why died I not at my birth? Why did I not expire when I came forth from the womb?
Hvi døde jeg ikke i Moders Liv eller udaanded straks fra Moders Skød?
12 Why did the knees receive me, And why the breasts, that I might suck?
Hvorfor var der Knæ til at tage imod mig, hvorfor var der Bryster at die?
13 For now should I lie down and be quiet; I should sleep; then should I be at rest,
Saa havde jeg nu ligget og hvilet, saa havde jeg slumret i Fred
14 With kings and counsellors of the earth, Who built up for themselves—ruins!
blandt Konger og Jordens Styrere, der bygged sig Gravpaladser,
15 Or with princes that had gold, And filled their houses with silver;
blandt Fyrster, rige paa Guld, som fyldte deres Huse med Sølv.
16 Or, as a hidden untimely birth, I had perished; As infants which never saw the light.
Eller var jeg dog som et nedgravet Foster, som Børn, der ikke fik Lyset at se!
17 There the wicked cease from troubling; There the weary are at rest.
Der larmer de gudløse ikke mer, der hviler de trætte ud,
18 There the prisoners rest together; They hear not the voice of the oppressor.
alle de fangne har Ro, de hører ej Fogedens Røst;
19 The small and the great are there, And the servant is free from his master.
smaa og store er lige der og Trællen fri for sin Herre.
20 Why giveth He light to him that is in misery, And life to the bitter in soul,
Hvi giver Gud de lidende Lys, de bittert sørgende Liv,
21 Who long for death, and it cometh not, And dig for it more than for hid treasures;
dem, som bier forgæves paa Døden, graver derefter som efter Skatte,
22 Who rejoice exceedingly, Yea, exult, when they can find a grave?
som glæder sig til en Stenhøj, jubler, naar de finder deres Grav —
23 Why is light given to a man from whom the way is hid, And whom God hath hedged in?
en Mand, hvis Vej er skjult, hvem Gud har stænget inde?
24 For my sighing cometh before I eat, And my groans are poured out like water.
Thi Suk er blevet mit daglige Brød, mine Ve raab strømmer som Vand.
25 For that which I dread overtaketh me; That at which I shudder cometh upon me.
Thi hvad jeg gruer for, rammer mig, hvad jeg bæver for, kommer over mig.
26 I have no peace, nor quiet, nor respite: Misery cometh upon me continually.
Knap har jeg Fred, og knap har jeg Ro, knap har jeg Hvile, saa kommer Uro!
