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Job 41:8-32
English Standard Version

Chapter 41

8Lay your hands on him; remember the battle — you will not do it again! 9 Behold, the hope of a man is false; he is laid low even at the sight of him. 10No one is so fierce that he dares to stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me? 11 Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine. 12"I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, or his mighty strength, or his goodly frame. 13Who can strip off his outer garment? Who would come near him with a bridle? 14Who can open the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror. 15His back is made of rows of shields, shut up closely as with a seal. 16One is so near to another that no air can come between them. 17They are joined one to another; they clasp each other and cannot be separated. 18His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn. 19Out of his mouth go flaming torches; sparks of fire leap forth. 20Out of his nostrils comes forth smoke, as from a boiling pot and burning rushes. 21His breath kindles coals, and a flame comes forth from his mouth. 22In his neck abides strength, and terror dances before him. 23The folds of his flesh stick together, firmly cast on him and immovable. 24His heart is hard as a stone, hard as the lower millstone. 25When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid; at the crashing they are beside themselves. 26Though the sword reaches him, it does not avail, nor the spear, the dart, or the javelin. 27He counts iron as straw, and bronze as rotten wood. 28The arrow cannot make him flee; for him, sling stones are turned to stubble. 29Clubs are counted as stubble; he laughs at the rattle of javelins. 30His underparts are like sharp potsherds; he spreads himself like a threshing sledge on the mire. 31He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment. 32Behind him he leaves a shining wake; one would think the deep to be white-haired.
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