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Dost thou draw leviathan with an angle? And with a rope thou lettest down--his tongue?
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Dost thou put a reed in his nose? And with a thorn pierce his jaw?
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Doth he multiply unto thee supplications? Doth he speak unto thee tender things?
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Doth he make a covenant with thee? Dost thou take him for a servant age-during?
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Dost thou play with him as a bird? And dost thou bind him for thy damsels?
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(Feast upon him do companions, They divide him among the merchants!)
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Dost thou fill with barbed irons his skin? And with fish-spears his head?
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Place on him thy hand, Remember the battle--do not add!
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Lo, the hope of him is found a liar, Also at his appearance is not one cast down?
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None so fierce that he doth awake him, And who is he before Me stationeth himself?
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Who hath 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 hath uncovered the face of his clothing? Within his double bridle who doth enter?
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The doors of his face who hath opened? Round about his teeth are terrible.
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A pride--strong ones of shields, Shut up--a close seal.
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One unto another they draw nigh, And air doth not enter between them.
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One unto another they adhere, 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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Out of his mouth do flames go, sparks of fire escape.
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Out of his nostrils goeth forth smoke, As a blown pot and reeds.
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His breath setteth coals on fire, And a flame from his mouth goeth forth.
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In his neck lodge doth strength, And before him doth grief exult.
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The flakes of his flesh have adhered--Firm upon him--it is not moved.
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His heart is firm as a stone, Yea, firm as the lower piece.
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From his rising are the mighty afraid, From breakings they keep themselves free.
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The sword of his overtaker standeth not, Spear--dart--and lance.
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He reckoneth iron as straw, brass as rotten wood.
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The son of the bow doth not cause him to flee, Turned by him into stubble are stones of the sling.
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As stubble have darts been reckoned, And he laugheth at the shaking of a javelin.
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Under him are sharp points of clay, He spreadeth gold on the mire.
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He causeth to boil as a pot the deep, The sea he maketh as a pot of ointment.
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After him he causeth a path to shine, One thinketh 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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Every high thing he doth see, He is king over all sons of pride.