Study Desk

The godless in heart cherish their anger, not crying for help when he binds them.

For beware of wrath when abundance entices you; don't let a big bribe turn you aside.

Be careful; turn away from wrongdoing; for because of this, you have been tested by affliction.

Who ever prescribed his course for him? Who ever said, ‘What you are doing is wrong'?

Teach us what we should tell him, for the darkness keeps us from organizing our case.

when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

"Have you gone into the storehouses for snow or seen the storehouses for hail,

which I save for times of trouble, for days of battle and war?

Who cut a channel for the downpours, or a way for the lightning and thunder,

"Can you hunt prey for a lioness or satisfy the appetite of the young lions,

Who provides food for the raven when his young cry out to God and wander about for lack of food?

It ranges over the hills for its pasture, searching for anything green.

Could you tie a rope around its neck and make it plow furrows for you?

The mountains produce food for him there, where all the wild animals play.

An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff.

class="poetry"> "Look, any hope [of capturing him] is futile — one would fall prostrate at the very sight of him. No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me? Who has given me anything and made me pay it back? Everything belongs to me under all of heaven. "I have more to say about his limbs, his strong talk, and his matchless strength. Who can strip off his [scaly] garment? Who can enter his jaws? Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth? "His pride is his rows of scales, tightly sealed together — one is so close to the next that no air can come between them; they are stuck one to another, interlocked and impervious. "When he sneezes, light flashes out; his eyes are like the shimmer of dawn. From his mouth go fiery torches, and sparks come flying out. His nostrils belch steam like a caldron boiling on the fire. His breath sets coals ablaze; flames pour from his mouth. "Strength resides in his neck, and dismay dances ahead of him [as he goes]. The layers of his flesh stick together; they are firm on him, immovable. His heart is as hard as a stone, yes, hard as a lower millstone. When he rears himself up, the gods are afraid, beside themselves in despair. "If a sword touches him, it won't stick; neither will a spear, or a dart, or a lance. He regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood. An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff. Clubs count as hay, and he laughs at a quivering javelin. His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge. "He makes the depths seethe like a pot, he makes the sea [boil] like a perfume kettle. He leaves a shining wake behind him, making the deep seem to have white hair. "On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He looks straight at all high things. He is king over all proud beasts."

class="poetry"> "Look, any hope [of capturing him] is futile — one would fall prostrate at the very sight of him. No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me? Who has given me anything and made me pay it back? Everything belongs to me under all of heaven. "I have more to say about his limbs, his strong talk, and his matchless strength. Who can strip off his [scaly] garment? Who can enter his jaws? Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth? "His pride is his rows of scales, tightly sealed together — one is so close to the next that no air can come between them; they are stuck one to another, interlocked and impervious. "When he sneezes, light flashes out; his eyes are like the shimmer of dawn. From his mouth go fiery torches, and sparks come flying out. His nostrils belch steam like a caldron boiling on the fire. His breath sets coals ablaze; flames pour from his mouth. "Strength resides in his neck, and dismay dances ahead of him [as he goes]. The layers of his flesh stick together; they are firm on him, immovable. His heart is as hard as a stone, yes, hard as a lower millstone. When he rears himself up, the gods are afraid, beside themselves in despair. "If a sword touches him, it won't stick; neither will a spear, or a dart, or a lance. He regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood. An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff. Clubs count as hay, and he laughs at a quivering javelin. His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge. "He makes the depths seethe like a pot, he makes the sea [boil] like a perfume kettle. He leaves a shining wake behind him, making the deep seem to have white hair. "On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He looks straight at all high things. He is king over all proud beasts."

class="poetry"> "Look, any hope [of capturing him] is futile — one would fall prostrate at the very sight of him. No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me? Who has given me anything and made me pay it back? Everything belongs to me under all of heaven. "I have more to say about his limbs, his strong talk, and his matchless strength. Who can strip off his [scaly] garment? Who can enter his jaws? Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth? "His pride is his rows of scales, tightly sealed together — one is so close to the next that no air can come between them; they are stuck one to another, interlocked and impervious. "When he sneezes, light flashes out; his eyes are like the shimmer of dawn. From his mouth go fiery torches, and sparks come flying out. His nostrils belch steam like a caldron boiling on the fire. His breath sets coals ablaze; flames pour from his mouth. "Strength resides in his neck, and dismay dances ahead of him [as he goes]. The layers of his flesh stick together; they are firm on him, immovable. His heart is as hard as a stone, yes, hard as a lower millstone. When he rears himself up, the gods are afraid, beside themselves in despair. "If a sword touches him, it won't stick; neither will a spear, or a dart, or a lance. He regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood. An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff. Clubs count as hay, and he laughs at a quivering javelin. His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge. "He makes the depths seethe like a pot, he makes the sea [boil] like a perfume kettle. He leaves a shining wake behind him, making the deep seem to have white hair. "On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He looks straight at all high things. He is king over all proud beasts."

class="poetry"> "Look, any hope [of capturing him] is futile — one would fall prostrate at the very sight of him. No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me? Who has given me anything and made me pay it back? Everything belongs to me under all of heaven. "I have more to say about his limbs, his strong talk, and his matchless strength. Who can strip off his [scaly] garment? Who can enter his jaws? Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth? "His pride is his rows of scales, tightly sealed together — one is so close to the next that no air can come between them; they are stuck one to another, interlocked and impervious. "When he sneezes, light flashes out; his eyes are like the shimmer of dawn. From his mouth go fiery torches, and sparks come flying out. His nostrils belch steam like a caldron boiling on the fire. His breath sets coals ablaze; flames pour from his mouth. "Strength resides in his neck, and dismay dances ahead of him [as he goes]. The layers of his flesh stick together; they are firm on him, immovable. His heart is as hard as a stone, yes, hard as a lower millstone. When he rears himself up, the gods are afraid, beside themselves in despair. "If a sword touches him, it won't stick; neither will a spear, or a dart, or a lance. He regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood. An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff. Clubs count as hay, and he laughs at a quivering javelin. His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge. "He makes the depths seethe like a pot, he makes the sea [boil] like a perfume kettle. He leaves a shining wake behind him, making the deep seem to have white hair. "On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He looks straight at all high things. He is king over all proud beasts."

class="poetry"> "Look, any hope [of capturing him] is futile — one would fall prostrate at the very sight of him. No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me? Who has given me anything and made me pay it back? Everything belongs to me under all of heaven. "I have more to say about his limbs, his strong talk, and his matchless strength. Who can strip off his [scaly] garment? Who can enter his jaws? Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth? "His pride is his rows of scales, tightly sealed together — one is so close to the next that no air can come between them; they are stuck one to another, interlocked and impervious. "When he sneezes, light flashes out; his eyes are like the shimmer of dawn. From his mouth go fiery torches, and sparks come flying out. His nostrils belch steam like a caldron boiling on the fire. His breath sets coals ablaze; flames pour from his mouth. "Strength resides in his neck, and dismay dances ahead of him [as he goes]. The layers of his flesh stick together; they are firm on him, immovable. His heart is as hard as a stone, yes, hard as a lower millstone. When he rears himself up, the gods are afraid, beside themselves in despair. "If a sword touches him, it won't stick; neither will a spear, or a dart, or a lance. He regards iron as straw and bronze as rotten wood. An arrow can't make him flee; for him, slingstones are so much chaff. Clubs count as hay, and he laughs at a quivering javelin. His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge. "He makes the depths seethe like a pot, he makes the sea [boil] like a perfume kettle. He leaves a shining wake behind him, making the deep seem to have white hair. "On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He looks straight at all high things. He is king over all proud beasts."