|"Can you draw out Levi'athan with a fishhook, |
or press down his tongue with a cord?
|Can you put a rope in his nose,|
or pierce his jaw with a hook?
|Will he make many supplications to you?|
Will he speak to you soft words?
|Will he make a covenant with you|
to take him for your servant for ever?
|Will you play with him as with a bird, |
or will you put him on leash for your maidens?
|Will traders bargain over him? |
Will they divide him up among the merchants?
|Can you fill his skin with harpoons, |
or his head with fishing spears?
|Lay hands on him;|
think of the battle; you will not do it again!
|Behold, the hope of a man is disappointed;|
he is laid low even at the sight of him.
|No one is so fierce that he dares to stir him up. |
Who then is he that can stand before me?
|Who has given to me, that I should repay him? |
Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine.
|"I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, |
or his mighty strength, or his goodly frame.
|Who can strip off his outer garment? |
Who can penetrate his double coat of mail?
|Who can open the doors of his face?|
Round about his teeth is terror.
|His back is made of rows of shields, |
shut up closely as with a seal.
|One is so near to another|
that no air can come between them.
|They are joined one to another;|
they clasp each other and cannot be separated.
|His sneezings flash forth light, |
and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn.
|Out of his mouth go flaming torches;|
sparks of fire leap forth.
|Out of his nostrils comes forth smoke, |
as from a boiling pot and burning rushes.
|His breath kindles coals,|
and a flame comes forth from his mouth.
|In his neck abides strength,|
and terror dances before him.
|The folds of his flesh cleave together,|
firmly cast upon him and immovable.
|His heart is hard as a stone,|
hard as the nether millstone.
|When he raises himself up the mighty are afraid; |
at the crashing they are beside themselves.
|Though the sword reaches him, it does not avail; |
nor the spear, the dart, or the javelin.
|He counts iron as straw, |
and bronze as rotten wood.
|The arrow cannot make him flee; |
for him slingstones are turned to stubble.
|Clubs are counted as stubble; |
he laughs at the rattle of javelins.
|His underparts are like sharp potsherds; |
he spreads himself like a threshing sledge on the mire.
|He makes the deep boil like a pot; |
he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
|Behind him he leaves a shining wake; |
one would think the deep to be hoary.
|Upon earth there is not his like, |
a creature without fear.
|He beholds everything that is high; |
he is king over all the sons of pride."
|<< | Job: 41 | >>|