Job

¹“Can you draw out Leviathan with a fish hook, or press down his tongue with a cord? ²Can you put a rope into his nose, or pierce his jaw through with a hook? ³Will he make many petitions to you, or will he speak soft words to you? ⁴Will he make a covenant with you, that you should take him for a servant forever? ⁵Will you play with him as with a bird? Or will you bind him for your girls? ⁶Will traders barter for him? Will they part him among the merchants? ⁷Can you fill his skin with barbed irons, or his head with fish spears? ⁸Lay your hand on him. Remember the battle, and do so no more. ⁹Behold, the hope of him is in vain. Won’t one be cast down even at the sight of him? ¹⁰None is so fierce that he dare stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me? ¹¹Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Everything under the heavens is mine. ¹²“I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, nor his mighty strength, nor his goodly frame. ¹³Who can strip off his outer garment? Who will come within his jaws? ¹⁴Who can open the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror. ¹⁵Strong scales are his pride, shut up together with a close seal. ¹⁶One is so near to another, that no air can come between them. ¹⁷They are joined to one another. They stick together, so that they can’t be pulled apart. ¹⁸His sneezing flashes out light. His eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. ¹⁹Out of his mouth go burning torches. Sparks of fire leap out. ²⁰Out of his nostrils a smoke goes, as of a boiling pot over a fire of reeds. ²¹His breath kindles coals. A flame goes out of his mouth. ²²There is strength in his neck. Terror dances before him. ²³The flakes of his flesh are joined together. They are firm on him. They can’t be moved. ²⁴His heart is as firm as a stone, yes, firm as the lower millstone. ²⁵When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid. They retreat before his thrashing. ²⁶If one attacks him with the sword, it can’t prevail; nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft. ²⁷He counts iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood. ²⁸The arrow can’t make him flee. Sling stones are like chaff to him. ²⁹Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin. ³⁰His undersides are like sharp potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge. ³¹He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment. ³²He makes a path shine after him. One would think the deep had white hair. ³³On earth there is not his equal, that is made without fear. ³⁴He sees everything that is high. He is king over all the sons of pride.”