📖 Job 41
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The Description of Leviathan(40:25)“Can you pull in Leviathan with a hook, and tie down its tongue with a rope?
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Can you put a cord through its nose, or pierce its jaw with a hook?
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Will it make numerous supplications to you, will it speak to you with tender words?
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Will it make a pact with you, so you could take it as your slave for life?
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Can you play with it, like a bird, or tie it on a leash for your girls?
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Will partners bargain for it? Will they divide it up among the merchants?
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Can you fill its hide with harpoons or its head with fishing spears?
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If you lay your hand on it, you will remember the fight. Do not do it again!
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(41:1) See, his expectation is wrong, he is laid low even at the sight of it.
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Is it not fierce when it is awakened? Who is he, then, who can stand before it?
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(Who has confronted me that I should repay? Everything under heaven belongs to me!)
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I will not keep silent about its limbs, and the extent of its might, and the grace of its arrangement.
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Who can uncover its outer covering? Who can penetrate to the inside of its armor?
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Who can open the doors of its mouth? Its teeth all around are fearsome.
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Its back has rows of shields, shut up closely together as with a seal;
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each one is so close to the next that no air can come between them.
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They lock tightly together, one to the next; they cling together and cannot be separated.
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Its snorting throws out flashes of light; its eyes are like the red glow of dawn.
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Out of its mouth go flames, sparks of fire shoot forth!
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Smoke streams from its nostrils as from a boiling pot over burning rushes.
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Its breath sets coals ablaze and a flame shoots from its mouth.
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Strength lodges in its neck, and despair runs before it.
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The folds of its flesh are tightly joined; they are firm on it, immovable.
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Its heart is hard as rock, hard as a lower millstone.
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When it rises up, the mighty are terrified, at its thrashing about they withdraw.
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Whoever strikes it with a sword will have no effect, nor with the spear, arrow, or dart.
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It regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood.
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Arrows do not make it flee; slingstones become like chaff to it.
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A club is counted as a piece of straw; it laughs at the rattling of the lance.
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Its underparts are the sharp points of potsherds, it leaves its mark in the mud like a threshing sledge.
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It makes the deep boil like a cauldron and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment,
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It leaves a glistening wake behind it; one would think the deep had a head of white hair.
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The likes of it is not on earth, a creature without fear.
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It looks on every haughty being; it is king over all that are proud.”