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Job 41

¹"Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook? Or press down his tongue with a cord?

²Can you put a rope into his nose? Or pierce his jaw through with a hook?

³Will he make many petitions to you? Or will he speak soft words to you?

⁴Will he make a covenant with you, That you should take him for a servant forever?

⁵Will you play with him as with a bird? Or will you bind him for your girls?

⁶Will traders barter for him? Will they part him among the merchants?

⁷Can you fill his skin with barbed irons, Or his head with fish-spears?

⁸Lay your hand on him. Remember the battle, and do so no more.

⁹Behold, the hope of him is in vain. Will not one be cast down even at the sight of him?

¹⁰None is so fierce that he dare stir him up. Who then is he who can stand before me?

¹¹Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Everything under the heavens is mine.

¹²"I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, Nor his mighty strength, nor his goodly frame.

¹³Who can strip off his outer garment? Who shall come within his jaws?

¹⁴Who can open the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror.

¹⁵Strong scales are his pride, Shut up together with a close seal.

¹⁶One is so near to another, That no air can come between them.

¹⁷They are joined one to another; They stick together, so that they can`t be pulled apart.

¹⁸His sneezing flashes forth light, His eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.

¹⁹Out of his mouth go burning torches, Sparks of fire leap forth.

²⁰Out of his nostrils a smoke goes, As of a boiling pot over a fire of reeds.

²¹His breath kindles coals. A flame goes forth from his mouth.

²²In his neck there is strength. Terror dances before him.

²³The flakes of his flesh are joined together. They are firm on him. They can`t be moved.

²⁴His heart is as firm as a stone, Yes, firm as the lower millstone.

²⁵When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid. They retreat before his thrashing.

²⁶If one lay at him with the sword, it can`t avail; Nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft.

²⁷He counts iron as straw; And brass as rotten wood.

²⁸The arrow can`t make him flee. Sling stones are like chaff to him.

²⁹Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.

³⁰His undersides are like sharp potsherds, Leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.

³¹He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

³²He makes a path to shine after him. One would think the deep had white hair.

³³On earth there is not his equal, That is made without fear.

³⁴He sees everything that is high: He is king over all the sons of pride."

Job 41 (WEB)

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Job

Chapter 41

41 of 42