Psalms 144
1 David’s. Blessed be Yahweh, my Rock, who teacheth my hands to war, my fingers to fight:
Af David. Lovet være HERREN, min Klippe, som oplærer mine hænder til Strid, mine Fingre til Krig,
2 My lovingkindness and my stronghold, my high tower and my deliverer—mine! My buckler, and he in whom I have sought refuge, —He that subdueth my people under me.
min Miskundhed og min Fæstning, min Klippeborg, min Frelser, mit Skjold og den, jeg lider paa, som underlægger mig Folkeslag!
3 O Yahweh! what is the earthborn, And yet thou hast acknowledged him, —the son of a mortal, And yet thou hast taken account of him:
HERRE, hvad er et Menneske, at du kendes ved det, et Menneskebarn, at du agter paa ham?
4 The earthborn, resembleth, a vapour, his days, are like a passing shadow.
Mennesket er som et Aandepust, dets Dage som svindende Skygge.
5 O Yahweh! bow thy heavens and come down, Touch the mountains, that they smoke:
HERRE, sænk din Himmel, stig ned og rør ved Bjergene, saa at de ryger;
6 Flash forth lightning, that thou mayest scatter them, Send out thine arrows, that thou mayest confound them:
slyng Lynene ud og adsplit Fjenderne, send dine Pile og indjag dem Rædsel;
7 Put forth thy hands from on high: —Snatch me away and rescue me out of mighty waters, out of the hand of the sons of the alien,
udræk din Haand fra det høje, fri og frels mig fra store Vande,
8 Whose mouth, hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood.
fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
9 O God! a new song, will I sing unto thee, —On a harp of ten strings, will I make music to thee:
Gud, jeg vil synge dig en ny Sang, lege for dig paa tistrenget Harpe,
10 Who giveth victory unto kings—Who snatcheth away David his servant, from the calamitous sword.
du, som giver Konger Sejr og udfrier David, din Tjener.
11 Snatch me away and rescue me out of he hand of the sons of the alien, —whose mouth hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood: —
Fri mig fra det onde Sværd, frels mig fra fremmedes Haand, de, hvis Mund taler Løgn, hvis højre er Løgnehaand.
12 That, our sons, may be like plants well grown while yet young, —Our daughters, like corner pillars, —carved, in the construction of a palace:
I Ungdommen er vore Sønner som højvoksne Planter, vore Døtre er som Søjler, udhugget i Tempelstil;
13 Our garners, full, pouring out from one kind to another; Our flocks, multiplying by thousands—by myriads, in our open fields:
vore Forraadskamre er fulde, de yder Forraad paa Forraad, vore Hjorde føder Tusinder, Titusinder paa vore Marker,
14 Our oxen, well-laden; no breaking in and no departing, —and no loud lament in our places of concourse: —
fede er vore Okser; intet Murbrud, ingen Udvandring, ingen Skrigen paa Torvene.
15 How happy the people that is in such a case! How happy the people that hath Yahweh for its God!
Saligt det Folk, der er saaledes stedt, saligt det Folk, hvis Gud er HERREN!
