|Job 41 JPS Tanakh 1917
Canst thou draw out leviathan with a fish-hook?
Or press down his tongue with a cord?
Canst thou put a ring into his nose?
Or bore his jaw through with a hook?
Will he make many supplications unto thee?
Or will he speak soft words unto thee?
Will he make a covenant with thee,
That thou shouldest take him for a servant for ever?
Wilt thou play with him as with a bird?
Or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?
Will the bands of fishermen make a banquet of him?
Will they part him among the merchants?
Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons?
Or his head with fish-spears?
Think upon the battle, thou wilt do so no more.
Behold, the hope of him is in vain;
Shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him?
None is so fierce that dare stir him up;
Who then is able to stand before Me?
Who hath given Me anything beforehand, that I should repay him?
Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is Mine.
Would I keep silence concerning his boastings,
Or his proud talk, or his fair array of words?
Who can uncover the face of his garment?
Who shall come within his double bridle?
Who can open the doors of his face?
Round about his teeth is terror.
His scales are his pride,
Shut up together as with a close seal.
One is so near to another,
That no air can come between them.
They are joined one to another;
They stick together, that they cannot be sundered.
His sneezings flash forth light,
And his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
Out of his mouth go burning torches,
And sparks of fire leap forth.
Out of his nostrils goeth smoke,
As out of a seething pot and burning rushes.
His breath kindleth coals,
And a flame goeth out of his mouth.
In his neck abideth strength,
And dismay danceth before him.
The flakes of his flesh are joined together;
They are firm upon him; they cannot be moved.
His heart is as firm as a stone;
Yea, firm as the nether millstone.
When he raiseth himself up, the mighty are afraid;
By reason of despair they are beside themselves.
If one lay at him with the sword, it will not hold;
Nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft.
He esteemeth iron as straw,
And brass as rotten wood.
The arrow cannot make him flee;
Slingstones are turned with him into stubble.
Clubs are accounted as stubble;
He laugheth at the rattling of the javelin.
Sharpest potsherds are under him;
He spreadeth a threshing-sledge upon the mire.
He maketh the deep to boil like a pot;
He maketh the sea like a seething mixture.
He maketh a path to shine after him;
One would think the deep to be hoary.
Upon earth there is not his like
Who is made to be fearless.
He looketh at all high things;
He is king over all the proud beasts.