Job 41

1Behold, his hope proves false; is one not cast down even at the sight of him?

2No one is so fierce that he dares to stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me?

3Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Whatever is under all the heavens is mine.

4I will not keep silent about his limbs, his mighty strength, or the grace of his form.

5Who has stripped off the front of his garment? Who can come within his double bridle?

6Who has opened the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror.

7His rows of shields are his pride, closed with a tight seal.

8They press close, one to another, and no air can come between them.

9Each one sticks to its fellow; they are clasped together and cannot be separated.

10His sneezes make light flash, and his eyes are like the eyelids of dawn.

11From his mouth torches go out; sparks of fire leap forth.

12Smoke goes out from his nostrils, like smoke from a pot over a fire of rushes.

13His breath kindles coals, and a flame comes out from his mouth.

14In his neck strength lodges, and dismay leaps before him.

15The folds of his flesh cling together; they are firmly fixed on him and cannot be moved.

16His heart is hard like a stone, hard like the lower millstone.

17At his rising the mighty are afraid; at the crashing they are beside themselves.

18The sword that reaches him cannot stand; nor can spear, dart, or javelin.

19He regards iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood.

20An arrow cannot make him flee; slingstones become like stubble to him.

21A club is regarded as straw, and he laughs at the rattling of the javelin.

22Under him are sharp shards of pottery; he spreads a threshing sledge over the mud.

23He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

24Behind him a path shines; one would think the deep was gray-haired.

25On earth there is none like him, one made without fear.

26He looks on everything that is high; he is king over all the sons of pride.