Habakkuk 3
1 A prayer of Habakkuk, the prophet, set to victorious music.
En Bøn af Profeten Habakuk; efter Sigjonoth.
2 LORD, I have heard of your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Renew your work in the middle of the years. In the middle of the years make it 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 came from Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. (Selah) His glory covered the heavens, and his praise filled the earth.
Gud kommer fra Theman og den Hellige fra Parans Bjerg. (Sela) Hans Majestæt bedækker Himmelen, og af hans Herlighed fyldes Jorden.
4 His splendor is like the sunrise. Rays shine from his hand, where his power is hidden.
Og en Glans som Lyset bryder frem, Straaler har han til Siden, og der skjuler han sin Magt.
5 Plague went before him, and pestilence followed his feet.
Foran ham gaar Pesten, og efter ham udgaar dræbende Sot.
6 He stood, and shook the earth. He looked, and made the nations tremble. The ancient mountains were crumbled. The age-old hills collapsed. His ways are eternal.
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 I saw the tents of Cushan in affliction. The dwellings of the land of Midian trembled.
Jeg ser Kusans Telte i Vaande, Telttæpperne i Midians Land ryste.
8 Was the LORD displeased with the rivers? Was your anger against the rivers, or your wrath against the sea, that you rode on your horses, on your chariots of salvation?
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 You uncovered your bow. You called for your sworn arrows. (Selah) You split the earth with rivers.
Din blottede Bue tages frem, med Ed stadfæstede ved Ordet ere Straffens Ris. (Sela) I Strømme kløver du Jorden.
10 The mountains saw you, and were afraid. The storm of waters passed by. The deep roared and lifted up its hands on high.
Bjerge se dig, de skælve; Vandstrømme styrte ned, Afgrunden hæver sin Røst, den opløfter sine Hænder imod det høje.
11 The sun and moon stood still in the sky at the light of your arrows as they went, at the shining of your glittering spear.
Sol og Maane træde tilbage i deres Bolig for Lyset af dine Pile, som fare frem, for Glansen af dit Spyds Lyn.
12 You marched through the land in wrath. You threshed the nations in anger.
I Fortørnelse skrider du frem paa Jorden, i Vrede nedtræder du Hedningerne.
13 You went out for the salvation of your people, for the salvation of your anointed. You crushed the head of the land of wickedness. You stripped them head to foot. (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 the heads of his warriors with their own spears. They came as a whirlwind to scatter me, gloating as if to devour the wretched in secret.
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 trampled the sea with your horses, churning mighty waters.
Du drager igennem Havet paa dine Heste, igennem de mange Vandes Hob.
16 I heard, and my body trembled. My lips quivered at the voice. Rottenness enters into my bones, and I tremble in my place because I must wait quietly for the day of trouble, for the coming up of the people who invade 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 For even though the fig tree doesn’t flourish, nor fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive fails, the fields yield no food, the flocks are 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 rejoice in the LORD. I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!
Men jeg vil glæde mig i Herren; jeg vil fryde mig i min Frelses Gud.
19 GOD, the Lord, is my strength. He makes my feet like deer’s feet, and enables me to go in high places. For the music director, on my 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.
