Job 30
1 But, now, they who are of fewer days than I, have poured derision upon me; whose fathers I refused—to set with the dogs of my flock.
Men nu le de ad mig, som ere yngre af Aar end jeg, de, hvis Fædre jeg vilde have forsmaaet at sætte hos mine Faarehunde.
2 Even the strength of their hands, wherefore was it mine? Upon them, vigour was lost;
Ja, hvortil skulde deres Hænders Kraft have gavnet mig? hos dem er Styrken svundet bort.
3 In want and hunger, they were lean, —who used to gnaw the dry ground, a dark night of desolation!
De ere udtærede af Mangel og Hunger, de afgnave den golde Ørk, i Ødelæggelsens og Fordærvelsens Nat;
4 Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, with the root of the broom for their food;
de oprykke Katost ved Buskene, og Gyveltræets Rod er deres Føde;
5 Out of the midst, were they driven, men shouted after them, as after a thief;
de uddrives fra Samfundet, man skriger efter dem som efter en Tyv;
6 In the fissures, of the ravines had they to dwell, in holes of dust and crags;
de bo i Kløfter i Dalene, i Huler i Jorden og Klipper;
7 Among the bushes, used they to shriek, Under the bramble, were they huddled together:
imellem Buske skryde de, de samles under Nælder.
8 Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless, they were scourged out of the land.
Børn af Daarer, ja af Mænd uden Navn; de ere udstødte af Landet.
9 But, now, their song, have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;
Men nu er jeg bleven en Spottesang for dem og maa tjene dem til Snak.
10 They abhor me—have put themselves far from me, and, from my face, have not withheld—spittle!
De have Vederstyggelighed til mig, de holde sig langt fra mig og spare ikke at spytte mig i Ansigtet.
11 Because, my girdle, he had loosened and had humbled me, therefore, the bridle—in my presence, cast they off;
Thi de have løst Tøjlen af sig og plaget mig, og de have kastet Bidselet af for mit Ansigt.
12 On my right hand, the young brood rose up, —My feet, they thrust aside, and cast up against me their earthworks of destruction;
Til højre for mig staar en Yngel frem, de støde mine Fødder bort, og de bane deres Fordærvelses Veje imod mig;
13 They brake up my path, —My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;
de bryde min Sti op, de hjælpe til min Ulykke, de have ingen Hjælper;
14 As through a wide breach, came they on, with a crashing noise, they rolled themselves along.
de komme som igennem et vidt Gab, de vælte sig frem under Bulder.
15 There are turned upon me terrors, —Chased away as with a wind, is mine abundance, and, as a cloud, hath passed away my prosperity.
Rædsler ere vendte imod mig, som et Stormvejr forfølge de min Herlighed, og min Frelse er gaaet forbi som en Sky.
16 Now, therefore, over myself, my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:
Men nu er min Sjæl hensmeltet i mig, Elendigheds Dage komme over mig.
17 Night, boreth, my bones, all over me, —and, my sinews, find no rest;
Natten gennemborer mine Ben, saa at de falde af mig, og mine nagende Smerter hvile ikke.
18 Most effectually, is my skin disfigured, —Like the collar of my tunic, it girdeth me about:
Ved den overvættes Magt er min Klædning helt forandret, den omslutter mig som Kraven paa min Underkjortel.
19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
Han har kastet mig i Dyndet, og jeg er lignet ved Støv og Aske.
20 I cry out for help unto thee, and thou dost not answer, I stand still, and thou dost gaze at me;
Jeg skriger til dig, men du svarer mig ikke; jeg staar der, og du bliver ved at se paa mig.
21 Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand, thou assailest me;
Du har forvendt dig til at være grum imod mig; du modstaar mig med din Haands Styrke.
22 Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, and the storm maketh me faint;
Du løfter mig op i Stormvejret, du lader mig fare hen, og du lader mig forgaa i dets Brag.
23 For I know that, unto death, thou wilt bring me back, even unto the house of meeting for every one living.
Thi jeg ved, du fører mig til Døden igen og til alle levendes Forsamlings Hus.
24 Only, against a heap of ruins, will one not thrust a hand! Surely, when one is in calamity—for that very reason, is there an outcry for help.
Mon en ikke udrækker Haanden i sit Fald? eller mon en ikke skriger i sin Ulykke?
25 Verily I wept, for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul, for the needy.
Eller græd jeg ikke for den, som havde haarde Dage? ynkedes min Sjæl ikke over den fattige?
26 Surely, for good, I looked, but there came in evil, And I waited for light, but there came in darkness;
Thi der jeg forventede godt, da kom det onde, og der jeg haabede til Lys, da kom Mørkhed.
27 I boiled within me, and rested not, There confronted me—days of affliction;
Mine Indvolde syde og ere ikke stille; Elendigheds Dage ere komne over mig.
28 In gloom, I walked along, without sun, I arose—in the convocation, I cried out for help;
Jeg gaar sort, uden Sol, jeg staar op, jeg skriger i Forsamlingen.
29 A brother, became I to the brutes that howl, and a companion to the birds that screech:
Jeg er bleven Dragers Broder og Strudses Stalbroder.
30 My skin, turned black, and peeled off me, and, my bones, burned with heat:
Min Hud er bleven sort og falder af mig, og Benene i mig brænde af Hede.
31 Thus is attuned to mourning—my lyre, and my flute, to the noise of them who weep.
Og min Harpe er bleven til Sorrig, og min Fløjte til de grædendes Lyd.
