1
“Do you draw leviathan with a hook? And do you let down his tongue with a rope?
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Do you put a reed in his nose? And pierce his jaw with a thorn?
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Does he multiply supplications to you? Does he speak tender things to you?
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Does he make a covenant with you? Do you take him for a perpetual servant?
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Do you play with him as a bird? And do you bind him for your girls?
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(Companions feast on him, || They divide him among the merchants!)
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Do you fill his skin with barbed irons? And his head with fish-spears?
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Place your hand on him, || Remember the battle—do not add!
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Behold, the hope of him is found a liar, || Also, is one not cast down at his appearance?
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None so fierce that he awakes him, || And who [is] he [who] stations himself before Me?
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Who has brought before Me and I repay? Under the whole heavens it [is] Mine.
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I do not keep silent concerning his parts, || And the matter of might, || And the grace of his arrangement.
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Who has uncovered the face of his clothing? Who enters within his double bridle?
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Who has opened the doors of his face? Around his teeth [are] terrible.
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A pride—strong ones of shields, || Shut up—a close seal.
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They draw near to one another, || And air does not enter between them.
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They adhere to one another, || They stick together and are not separated.
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His sneezings cause light to shine, || And his eyes [are] as the eyelids of the dawn.
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Flames go out of his mouth, sparks of fire escape.
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Smoke goes forth out of his nostrils, || As a blown pot and reeds.
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His breath sets coals on fire, || And a flame goes forth from his mouth.
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Strength lodges in his neck, || And grief exults before him.
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The flakes of his flesh have adhered—Firm on him—it is not moved.
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His heart [is] firm as a stone, || Indeed, firm as the lower piece.
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The mighty are afraid at his rising, || From his breakings they keep themselves free.
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The sword of his overtaker does not stand, || Spear, dart, and breastplate.
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He reckons iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
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The son of the bow does not cause him to flee, || Stones of the sling are turned into stubble by him.
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Darts have been reckoned as stubble, || And he laughs at the shaking of a javelin.
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Sharp points of clay [are] under him, || He spreads gold on the mire.
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He causes the deep to boil as a pot, || He makes the sea as a pot of ointment.
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He causes a path to shine after him, || One thinks the deep to be hoary.
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There is not on the earth his like, || That is made without terror.
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He sees every high thing, || He [is] king over all sons of pride.”
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