¹Job vedblev at fremsætte sit Tankesprog:

¹And Job addeth to lift up his simile, and saith: —

²"Så sandt Gud lever, som satte min Ret til Side, den Almægtige, som gjorde mig mod i Hu:

²God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty — He made my soul bitter.

³Så længe jeg drager Ånde og har Guds Ånde i Næsen,

³For all the while my breath [is] in me, And the spirit of God in my nostrils.

⁴skal mine Læber ej tale Uret, min Tunge ej fare med Svig!

⁴My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue doth not utter deceit.

⁵Langt være det fra mig at give jer Ret; til jeg udånder, opgiver jeg ikke min Uskyld.

⁵Pollution to me — if I justify you, Till I expire I turn not aside mine integrity from me.

⁶Jeg hævder min Ret, jeg slipper den ikke, ingen af mine Dage piner mit Sind.

⁶On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart doth not reproach me while I live.

⁷Som den gudløse gå det min Fjende, min Modstander som den lovløse!

⁷As the wicked is my enemy, And my withstander as the perverse.

⁸Thi hvad er den vanhelliges Håb, når Gud bortskærer og kræver hans Sjæl?

⁸For what [is] the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?

⁹Hører mon Gud hans Skrig, når Angst kommer over ham?

⁹His cry doth God hear, When distress cometh on him?

¹⁰Mon han kan fryde sig over den Almægtige, føjer han ham, når han påkalder ham?

¹⁰On the Mighty doth he delight himself? Call God at all times?

¹¹Jeg vil lære jer om Guds Hånd, den Almægtiges Tanker dølger jeg ikke;

¹¹I shew you by the hand of God, That which [is] with the Mighty I hide not.

¹²se, selv har I alle set det, hvi har I så tomme Tanker?

¹²Lo, ye — all of you — have seen, And why [is] this — ye are altogether vain?

¹³Det er den gudløses Lod fra Gud, Arven, som Voldsmænd får fra den Almægtige:

¹³This [is] the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones From the Mighty they receive.

¹⁴Vokser hans Sønner, er det for Sværdet, hans Afkom mættes ikke med Brød;

¹⁴If his sons multiply — for them [is] a sword. And his offspring [are] not satisfied [with] bread.

¹⁵de øvrige bringer Pesten i Graven, deres Enker kan ej holde Klage over dem.

¹⁵His remnant in death are buried, And his widows do not weep.

¹⁶Opdynger han Sølv som Støv og samler sig Klæder som Ler

¹⁶If he heap up as dust silver, And as clay prepare clothing,

¹⁷han samler, men den retfærdige klæder sig i dem, og Sølvet arver den skyldfri;

¹⁷He prepareth — and the righteous putteth [it] on, And the silver the innocent doth apportion.

¹⁸han bygger sit Hus som en Edderkops, som Hytten, en Vogter gør sig;

¹⁸He hath built as a moth his house, And as a booth a watchman hath made.

¹⁹han lægger sig rig, men for sidste ang, han slår Øjnene op, og er det ej mer;

¹⁹Rich he lieth down, and he is not gathered, His eyes he hath opened, and he is not.

²⁰Rædsler når ham som Vande, ved Nat river Stormen ham bort;

²⁰Overtake him as waters do terrors, By night stolen him away hath a whirlwind.

²¹løftet af Østenstorm farer han bort, den fejer ham væk fra hans Sted.

²¹Take him up doth an east wind, and he goeth, And it frighteneth him from his place,

²²Skånselsløst skyder han på ham, i Hast må han fly fra hans Hånd;

²²And it casteth at him, and doth not spare, From its hand he diligently fleeth.

²³man klapper i Hænderne mod ham og piber ham bort fra hans Sted!

²³It clappeth at him its hands, And it hisseth at him from his place.