Job 13
1 Lo! all [this], hath mine own eye seen, —Mine ear hath heard and understood it:
Se, mit Øje har skuet alt dette, mit Øre har hørt og mærket sig det;
2 Just as ye know, I too, know, I, fall not short, of you.
hvad I ved, ved ogsaa jeg, jeg falder ikke igennem for jer.
3 But indeed, I, unto the Almighty, would speak, and, to direct my argument unto GOD, would I be well pleased.
Men til den Almægtige vil jeg tale, med Gud er jeg sindet at gaa i Rette,
4 For, in truth, ye, do besmear with falsehood, Worthless physicians, all of you!
mens I smører paa med Løgn; usle Læger er I til Hobe.
5 Oh that ye would, altogether hold your peace, and it should serve you for wisdom!
Om I dog vilde tie stille, saa kunde I regnes for vise!
6 Hear, I pray you, the argument of my mouth, and, to the pleadings of my lips, give heed: —
Hør dog mit Klagemaal, mærk mine Læbers Anklage!
7 Is it, for God, ye would speak perversely? And, for him, would ye speak deceit:
Forsvarer I Gud med Uret, forsvarer I ham med Svig?
8 Even, for him, would ye be partial? Or, for GOD, would ye [so] plead?
Vil I tage Parti for ham, vil I træde i Skranken for Gud?
9 Would it be well, when he searched you out? Or, as one might jest with a mortal, would ye jest, with him?
Gaar det godt, naar han ransager eder, kan I narre ham, som man narrer et Menneske?
10 He will, severely rebuke, you, if ye are secretly partial.
Revse jer vil han alvorligt, om I lader som intet og dog er partiske.
11 Shall not, his majesty, overwhelm you? and, the dread of him, fall upon you?
Vil ikke hans Højhed skræmme jer og hans Rædsel falde paa eder?
12 Are not your memorable sayings, proverbs of ashes? Breastworks of clay, your breastworks?
Eders Tankesprog bliver til Askesprog, som Skjolde af Ler eders Skjolde.
13 Quietly let me alone, that, I, may speak out, then let come on me, what may.
Ti stille, at jeg kan tale, saa overgaa mig, hvad der vil!
14 In any case, I will take up my flesh in my teeth, and, my life, will I put in my hand:
Jeg vil bære mit Kød i Tænderne og tage mit Liv i min Haand;
15 Lo! he may slay me, [yet], for him, will I wait, —Nevertheless, my ways—unto his face, will I show to be right:
se, han slaar mig ihjel, jeg har intet Haab, dog lægger jeg for ham min Færd.
16 Even he, will be on my side—unto salvation, For, not before his face, shall any impious person come.
Det er i sig selv en Sejr for mig, thi en vanhellig vover sig ikke til ham!
17 Hear ye patiently my speech, and be my declaration in your ears.
Hør nu ret paa mit Ord, lad mig tale for eders Ører!
18 Lo! I pray you, I have set forth in order a plea, I know that, I, shall be found right.
Se, til Rettergang er jeg rede, jeg ved, at Retten er min!
19 Who is it that shall contend with me? For, now, if I should hold my peace, why! I should breathe my last!
Hvem kan vel trætte med mig? Da skulde jeg tie og opgive Aanden!
20 Only, two things, do thou not with me, then, from thy face, will I not hide me: —
Kun for to Ting skaane du mig, saa kryber jeg ikke i Skjul for dig:
21 Thy hand—from off me, take thou far away, and, thy terror, let it not startle me!
Din Haand maa du tage fra mig, din Rædsel skræmme mig ikke!
22 Then call thou, and, I, will answer, Or I will speak, and reply thou unto me.
Saa stævn mig, og jeg skal svare, eller jeg vil tale, og du skal svare!
23 How many are mine iniquities and sins? My transgression and my sin, let me know!
Hvor stor er min Skyld og Synd? Lad mig vide min Brøde og Synd!
24 Wherefore, thy face, shouldst thou hide? Or count me, as an enemy to thee?
Hvi skjuler du dog dit Aasyn og regner mig for din Fjende?
25 A driven leaf, wilt thou cause to tremble? Or, dry stubble, wilt thou pursue?
Vil du skræmme et henvejret Blad, forfølge et vissent Straa,
26 For thou writest, against me, bitter things, and dost make me inherit the iniquities of my youth;
at du skriver mig saa bitter en Dom og lader mig arve min Ungdoms Skyld,
27 And thou dost put—in the stocks—my feet, and observest all my paths, Against the roots of my feet, thou dost cut out a bound;
lægger mine Fødder i Blokken, vogter paa alle mine Veje, indkredser mine Fødders Trin!
28 And, a man himself, as a rotten thing, weareth out, as a garment which the moth hath eaten.
Og saa er han dog som smuldrende Trøske, som Klæder, der ædes op af Møl,
