Job 41

Can thou draw out leviathan with a fishhook, or press down his tongue with a cord? Can thou put a rope into his nose, or pierce his jaw through with a hook? Will he make many supplications to thee? Or will he speak soft words to thee? Will he make a covenant with thee, that thou should take him for a servant forever? Will thou play with him as with a bird? Or will thou bind him for thy maidens? Will the bands make traffic of him? Will they part him among the merchants? Can thou fill his skin with barbed irons, or his head with fish-spears? Lay thy hand upon him. Remember the battle, and do so no more. Behold, the hope of him is in vain. Will not a man be cast down even at the sight of him? 10 None is so fierce that he dare stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me? 11 Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Under the whole heaven is mine. 12 I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, nor his mighty strength, nor his goodly frame. 13 Who can strip off his outer garment? Who shall come within his jaws? 14 Who can open the doors of his face? Round about his teeth is terror. 15 His strong scales are his pride, shut up together like a close seal. 16 One is so near to another that no air can come between them. 17 They are joined one to another. They stick together, so that they cannot be parted. 18 His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. 19 Out of his mouth go burning torches, and sparks of fire leap forth. 20 Out of his nostrils a smoke goes, as of a boiling pot and burning rushes. 21 His breath kindles coals, and a flame goes forth from his mouth. 22 In his neck abides strength, and terror dances before him. 23 The flakes of his flesh are joined together. They are firm upon him. They cannot be moved. 24 His heart is as firm as a stone, Yea, firm as the nether millstone. 25 When he raises himself up the mighty are afraid. Because of consternation they are beside themselves. 26 If a man lays at him with the sword it cannot avail, nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft. 27 He counts iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood. 28 The arrow cannot make him flee. Sling-stones are turned into stubble with him. 29 Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin. 30 His underparts are like sharp potsherds. He spreads out as a threshing-wagon upon the mire. 31 He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment. 32 He makes a path to shine after him. A man would think the deep to be hoary. 33 Upon earth there is not his like who is made without fear. 34 He beholds everything that is high. He is king over all the sons of pride.
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