Jobs 27
1 Job heldt fram med talen sin og sagde:
Job continued his discourse:
2 «So sant Gud liver, som meg sveik, og Allvalds som meg volde sorg
“As surely as God lives, who has deprived me of justice— the Almighty, who has embittered my soul—
3 - for endå eg min ande dreg; i nosi mi er guddomspust -:
as long as my breath is still within me and the breath of God remains in my nostrils,
4 Urett ligg ei på mine lippor; mi tunga talar ikkje svik.
my lips will not speak wickedness, and my tongue will not utter deceit.
5 D’er langt frå meg å gje’ dykk rett, mi uskyld held eg fast til dauden.
I will never say that you are right; I will maintain my integrity until I die.
6 Mi rettferd held eg fast uskjepla, eg ingen dag treng skjemmast ved.
I will cling to my righteousness and never let go. As long as I live, my conscience will not accuse me.
7 Min fiend’ skal seg syna gudlaus, min motstandar som urettferdig.
May my enemy be like the wicked and my opponent like the unjust.
8 Kva von hev en gudlaus att, når Gud vil sjæli or han draga?
For what is the hope of the godless when he is cut off, when God takes away his life?
9 Vil Gud vel høyra skriket hans, når trengsla bryt innyver honom?
Will God hear his cry when distress comes upon him?
10 Kann han i Allvald vel seg gleda? Kann han kvar tid påkalla Gud?
Will he delight in the Almighty? Will he call upon God at all times?
11 Eg um Guds hand vil læra dykk; kva Allvald vil, det dyl eg ikkje.
I will instruct you in the power of God. I will not conceal the ways of the Almighty.
12 Sjå dette hev det alle set; kvi talar de då tome ord?
Surely all of you have seen it for yourselves. Why then do you keep up this empty talk?
13 Den lut fær gudlause av Gud, den arven valdsmann fær av Allvald.
This is the wicked man’s portion from God— the heritage the ruthless receive from the Almighty.
14 Til sverdet veks hans søner upp; hans avkom mettast ei med brød;
Though his sons are many, they are destined for the sword; and his offspring will never have enough food.
15 dei siste legst i grav ved pest, og enkjorne held ingi klaga.
His survivors will be buried by the plague, and their widows will not weep for them.
16 Og um han dyngjer sylv som dust og samlar klæde liksom leir:
Though he heaps up silver like dust and piles up a wardrobe like clay,
17 Den rettvise tek klædi på; skuldlause skifter sylvet hans.
what he lays up, the righteous will wear, and his silver will be divided by the innocent.
18 Han byggjer huset sitt som molen, likt hytta vaktmannen set upp.
The house he built is like a moth’s cocoon, like a hut set up by a watchman.
19 Rik legg han seg - men aldri meir; han opnar augo - og er burte.
He lies down wealthy, but will do so no more; when he opens his eyes, all is gone.
20 Som vatsflaum rædsla honom tek, ved natt riv stormen honom burt.
Terrors overtake him like a flood; a tempest sweeps him away in the night.
21 Han driv av stad for austanvind, som blæs han frå hans heimstad burt.
The east wind carries him away, and he is gone; it sweeps him out of his place.
22 Han utan miskunn på han skyt; frå handi hans han røma må.
It hurls itself against him without mercy as he flees headlong from its power.
23 Med hender klappar dei åt han og pip han frå hans heimstad burt.
It claps its hands at him and hisses him out of his place.
