| Chapter 41 |
1 |
'Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook? Or press down his tongue with a cord?
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2 |
Can you put a rope into his nose? Or pierce his jaw through with a hook?
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3 |
Will he make many petitions to you? Or will he speak soft words to you?
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4 |
Will he make a covenant with you, That you should take him for a servant forever?
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5 |
Will you play with him as with a bird? Or will you bind him for your girls?
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6 |
Will traders barter for him? Will they part him among the merchants?
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7 |
Can you fill his skin with barbed irons, Or his head with fish-spears?
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8 |
Lay your hand on him. Remember the battle, and do so no more.
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9 |
Behold, the hope of him is in vain. Will not one be cast down even at the sight of him?
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10 |
None is so fierce that he dare stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me?
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11 |
Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Everything under the heavens is mine.
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12 |
'I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, Nor his mighty strength, nor his goodly frame.
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13 |
Who can strip off his outer garment? Who shall come within his jaws?
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14 |
Who can open the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror.
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15 |
Strong scales are his pride, Shut up together with a close seal.
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16 |
One is so near to another, That no air can come between them.
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17 |
They are joined one to another; They stick together, so that they can't be pulled apart.
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18 |
His sneezing flashes forth light, His eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
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19 |
Out of his mouth go burning torches, Sparks of fire leap forth.
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20 |
Out of his nostrils a smoke goes, As of a boiling pot over a fire of reeds.
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21 |
His breath kindles coals. A flame goes forth from his mouth.
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22 |
In his neck there is strength. Terror dances before him.
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23 |
The flakes of his flesh are joined together. They are firm on him. They can't be moved.
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24 |
His heart is as firm as a stone, Yes, firm as the lower millstone.
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25 |
When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid. They retreat before his thrashing.
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26 |
If one lay at him with the sword, it can't avail; Nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft.
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27 |
He counts iron as straw; And brass as rotten wood.
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28 |
The arrow can't make him flee. Sling stones are like chaff to him.
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29 |
Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.
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30 |
His undersides are like sharp potsherds, Leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.
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31 |
He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
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32 |
He makes a path to shine after him. One would think the deep had white hair.
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33 |
On earth there is not his equal, That is made without fear.
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34 |
He sees everything that is high: He is king over all the sons of pride.'
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