Habakkuk 3
1 A prayer of Habakkuk the prophet, according to the Shigionoth.
En Bøn af Profeten Habakuk; efter Sigjonoth.
2 I have heard, Lord, of your fame, I have seen, Lord, your work; through the years you have make yourself known, in wrath you remember mercy.
Herre! jeg har hørt Tidenden om dig, jeg frygter; Herre! din Gerning, kald den til Live midt i Aarene, midt i Aarene kundgøre du den; i Vrede komme du i Hu at være barmhjertig!
3 God comes from Teman, and the Holy One from the mountain-land of Paran. (Selah) His glory covers the heavens, and his splendour fills the earth.
Gud kommer fra Theman og den Hellige fra Parans Bjerg. (Sela) Hans Majestæt bedækker Himmelen, og af hans Herlighed fyldes Jorden.
4 Before him it is like the light, rays he has at his side, where his power is hidden.
Og en Glans som Lyset bryder frem, Straaler har han til Siden, og der skjuler han sin Magt.
5 Before him pestilence stalks, after him plague follows.
Foran ham gaar Pesten, og efter ham udgaar dræbende Sot.
6 He stands, and the earth trembles, he looks, and the nations melt away, and the mountains of old are scattered, the everlasting hills bow down. These are his ways from of old.
Han træder frem og bringer Jorden til at ryste, han ser til og bringer Folkene til at skælve, og de evige Bjerge briste, de ældgamle Høje synke; hans Tog ere som i fordums Tid.
7 The tents of Cushan are afraid, the curtains of Midian tremble.
Jeg ser Kusans Telte i Vaande, Telttæpperne i Midians Land ryste.
8 Is your wrath, Lord, with the rivers? Is your anger against the streams? Or your rage against the sea? Is that why you ride on your war-steeds? Why you mount your chariots of victory?
Er vel din Vrede, o Herre! optændt imod Floderne? din Vrede imod Floderne og din Harme imod Havet? at du saa farer frem paa dine Heste, paa dine Vogne til Frelse.
9 Why you bare your bow? Why you fill your quiver with shafts? You split the earth with torrents.
Din blottede Bue tages frem, med Ed stadfæstede ved Ordet ere Straffens Ris. (Sela) I Strømme kløver du Jorden.
10 The mountains see you and writhe. The tempest of waters sweeps by. The great deep sends forth its voice, and lifts up its hands.
Bjerge se dig, de skælve; Vandstrømme styrte ned, Afgrunden hæver sin Røst, den opløfter sine Hænder imod det høje.
11 The sun forgets to rise. The moon stands still in its place. Your arrows go forth to give light. Your glittering spear is as lightning.
Sol og Maane træde tilbage i deres Bolig for Lyset af dine Pile, som fare frem, for Glansen af dit Spyds Lyn.
12 In rage you stride over the earth. In wrath you trample the nations.
I Fortørnelse skrider du frem paa Jorden, i Vrede nedtræder du Hedningerne.
13 You go forth to save your people. You go to help your anointed. You crush the head of the wicked nation, laying him bare from thigh to neck. (Selah)
Du er dragen ud til dit Folks Frelse, til din Salvedes Frelse; du knuser Hovedet af den ugudeliges Hus, idet du blotter Grundvolden op til Halsen. (Sela)
14 You pierced his head with his spears, as his champions storm out to scatter us, as they rejoice to devour the poor secretly.
Du gennemborer ved hans Spyd Hovederne paa hans Skarer, som storme frem for at adsprede mig, og hvis Glæde var som til at æde den elendige i Skjul.
15 You tread the sea with your horses, while the mighty waters roar.
Du drager igennem Havet paa dine Heste, igennem de mange Vandes Hob.
16 I hear, and my body trembles, and at the sound my lips quiver. My bones begin to decay, and my footsteps totter beneath me, while I long for the day of distress to come upon those who attack us.
Jeg har hørt det, og mit Indre bævede, ved Røsten dirrede mine Læber, der kommer Skørhed i mine Ben, og jeg ryster, hvor jeg staar, fordi jeg skal være rolig til Nødens Dag, indtil han, som med en Skare skal angribe Folket, drager op imod det.
17 Though the fig tree bears no fruit, and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive harvest fails, and the fields produce no food, though the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls,
Thi Figentræet skal ikke blomstre, og der er ingen Afgrøde paa Vintræerne, Olietræets Frugt slaar fejl, og Markerne give ikke Spise; Faarene ere revne bort fra Folden, og der er ingen Øksne i Staldene.
18 yet I will exult in the Lord, and rejoice in the God who saves me.
Men jeg vil glæde mig i Herren; jeg vil fryde mig i min Frelses Gud.
19 The Lord God is my strength; he makes my feet as sure as the feet of deer, and causes me to walk on the heights! To the music director: Use stringed instruments.
Den Herre, Herre er min Styrke, og han gør mine Fødder som Hindernes og lader mig skride frem over mine Høje. Til Sangmesteren; med min Strengeleg.
