"His sneezings flash forth light,
And his eyes are like the eyelids of morning.
Out of his mouth go burning torches, and sparks of fire leap forth. . . .
And dismay danceth before him. . . .
His heart is as firm as stone;
Yea, firm as the nether millstone. . . .
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. . . .
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 the 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."
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