Job 41 | Strong's Bible

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CHAPTER 41

Can you pull in

Leviathan

with a hook

or tie down his tongue

with a rope?

Can you put

a cord

through his nose

or pierce

his jaw

with a hook?

Will he beg

you

for mercy

or

speak

to you

softly?

Will he make

a covenant

with you

to take him

as a slave

for life?

Can you pet him

like a bird

or put him on a leash

for your maidens?

Will traders

barter

for him

or divide him

among

the merchants?

Can you fill

his hide

with harpoons

or his head

with fishing

spears?

If you lay

a hand

on him,

you will remember

the battle

and never

repeat it!

Surely

hope of overcoming him

is false.

Is not

the sight of him

overwhelming?

No one

is ferocious

enough to

rouse Leviathan.

Then who

is able to stand

against Me?

Who

has given to Me

that I should repay him?

Everything

under

heaven

is

Mine.

I cannot

keep silent

about his limbs,

his power

and his graceful

form.

Who

can strip off

his outer

coat?

Who

can approach him

with a bridle?

Who

can open

his jaws,

ringed

by his fearsome

teeth?

His rows

of scales are

his pride,

tightly

sealed together.

One scale

is so near

to another

that no

air

can pass

between them.

They are joined

to one

another;

they clasp

and cannot

be separated.

His snorting

flashes

with light,

and his eyes

are like the rays

of dawn.

Firebrands

stream

from his mouth;

fiery

sparks

shoot forth!

Smoke

billows

from his nostrils

as from a boiling

pot

over burning reeds.

His breath

sets coals

ablaze,

and flames

pour out

of his mouth.

Strength

resides

in his neck,

and dismay

leaps

before him.

The folds

of his flesh

are tightly joined;

they are firm

and immovable.

His chest

is as hard

as

a rock,

as hard

as a lower

millstone!

When Leviathan rises up,

the mighty

are terrified;

they withdraw

before his thrashing.

The sword

that reaches him

has no

effect,

nor does the spear

or dart

or arrow.

He regards

iron

as straw

and bronze

as rotten

wood.

No

arrow

can make him flee;

slingstones

become

like chaff

to him.

A club

is regarded

as straw,

and he laughs

at the sound

of the lance.

His undersides

are jagged

potsherds,

spreading out

the mud

like a threshing sledge.

He makes the depths

seethe

like a cauldron;

he makes

the sea

like a jar of ointment.

He leaves a glistening

wake

behind him;

one would think

the deep

had white hair!

Nothing

on

earth

is his equal—

a creature

devoid of

fear!

He looks down

on all

the haughty;

he

is king

over

all

the proud.”

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