Jobs 27
1 Job heldt fram med talen sin og sagde:
And Job addeth to lift up his simile, and saith: —
2 «So sant Gud liver, som meg sveik, og Allvalds som meg volde sorg
God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty — He made my soul bitter.
3 - for endå eg min ande dreg; i nosi mi er guddomspust -:
For all the while my breath [is] in me, And the spirit of God in my nostrils.
4 Urett ligg ei på mine lippor; mi tunga talar ikkje svik.
My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue doth not utter deceit.
5 D’er langt frå meg å gje’ dykk rett, mi uskyld held eg fast til dauden.
Pollution to me — if I justify you, Till I expire I turn not aside mine integrity from me.
6 Mi rettferd held eg fast uskjepla, eg ingen dag treng skjemmast ved.
On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart doth not reproach me while I live.
7 Min fiend’ skal seg syna gudlaus, min motstandar som urettferdig.
As the wicked is my enemy, And my withstander as the perverse.
8 Kva von hev en gudlaus att, når Gud vil sjæli or han draga?
For what [is] the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?
9 Vil Gud vel høyra skriket hans, når trengsla bryt innyver honom?
His cry doth God hear, When distress cometh on him?
10 Kann han i Allvald vel seg gleda? Kann han kvar tid påkalla Gud?
On the Mighty doth he delight himself? Call God at all times?
11 Eg um Guds hand vil læra dykk; kva Allvald vil, det dyl eg ikkje.
I shew you by the hand of God, That which [is] with the Mighty I hide not.
12 Sjå dette hev det alle set; kvi talar de då tome ord?
Lo, ye — all of you — have seen, And why [is] this — ye are altogether vain?
13 Den lut fær gudlause av Gud, den arven valdsmann fær av Allvald.
This [is] the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones From the Mighty they receive.
14 Til sverdet veks hans søner upp; hans avkom mettast ei med brød;
If his sons multiply — for them [is] a sword. And his offspring [are] not satisfied [with] bread.
15 dei siste legst i grav ved pest, og enkjorne held ingi klaga.
His remnant in death are buried, And his widows do not weep.
16 Og um han dyngjer sylv som dust og samlar klæde liksom leir:
If he heap up as dust silver, And as clay prepare clothing,
17 Den rettvise tek klædi på; skuldlause skifter sylvet hans.
He prepareth — and the righteous putteth [it] on, And the silver the innocent doth apportion.
18 Han byggjer huset sitt som molen, likt hytta vaktmannen set upp.
He hath built as a moth his house, And as a booth a watchman hath made.
19 Rik legg han seg - men aldri meir; han opnar augo - og er burte.
Rich he lieth down, and he is not gathered, His eyes he hath opened, and he is not.
20 Som vatsflaum rædsla honom tek, ved natt riv stormen honom burt.
Overtake him as waters do terrors, By night stolen him away hath a whirlwind.
21 Han driv av stad for austanvind, som blæs han frå hans heimstad burt.
Take him up doth an east wind, and he goeth, And it frighteneth him from his place,
22 Han utan miskunn på han skyt; frå handi hans han røma må.
And it casteth at him, and doth not spare, From its hand he diligently fleeth.
23 Med hender klappar dei åt han og pip han frå hans heimstad burt.
It clappeth at him its hands, And it hisseth at him from his place.
