Verse of the Day for 12-8-09
Can you draw out the leviathan with a hook, or hold down his tongue with a cord? Can you put a reed rope into his nose, or pierce his jaw with a thorn? Will he multiply pleas for help to you? Will he speak soft words to you? Will he make a covenant with you? Will you take him for a servant for ever? Will you play with him as with a bird? Or will you bind him for your maidens? Shall your companions bargain over him? Shall they divide him among the merchants? Can you fill his skin with barbed irons, or his head with fishing spears? Lay your hand on him, think of the battle; you will never do it again. Behold, his hope has been made false; will not one be cast down at the sight of him? None is so fierce as to dare to stir him up; who then is able to stand before Me? Who has gone before Me that I should repay? All that is the heavens is Mine. I will not keep silent concerning his limbs, or his mighty strength, or the grace of his frame. Who can take off the surface of his skin; who can come to him with his double bridle? Who can open the doors to his face? Terror is round about his teeth. The rows of shields are his pride, shut up with a close seal; one is so near to another that no air can come between them; they are joined one to another, they clasp each other so that they can not be separated. His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn. Out of his mouth go burning torches, sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goes smoke, as out of a boiling pot fired by reeds. His breath kindles coals, and a flame goes out of his mouth. In his neck remains strength, and terror dances before him. The folds of his flesh are joined together, cast firm on him; he cannot be moved. His heart is cast hard as a stone, even cast hard as a piece of a riding millstone. The mighty are afraid from his rising; they are beside themselves from the crashing. The sword overtakes him, but will not hold firm. The spear, the dart, and the javelin also. He counts iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood. An arrow cannot make him flee; slingstones are turned by him into stubble. Darts are counted as straw; he laughs at the shaking of a javelin. Points of potsherds are under him; he spreads sharp pointed marks on the mire. He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment. He makes a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be gray-headed. On earth there is nothing like him, one made without fear. He beholds all high things; he is a king over all the sons of pride.