Study Desk

so that it could take hold of the edges of the earth and shake the wicked out of it?

Have you surveyed the full extent of the earth? Say so, if you know it all!

so that the dust becomes a mass [of mud], and its clods stick together?

Does the eagle fly up when you say so, to build its nest in the heights?

No one is fierce enough to rouse him, so who can stand up to me?

Who can pry open the doors of his face, so close to his terrible teeth?

one is so close to the next that no air can come between them;

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

His belly is as sharp as fragments of pottery, so he moves across the mud like a threshing-sledge.

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."

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."

So now, get yourselves seven young bulls and seven rams, go to my servant Iyov, and offer up for yourselves a burnt offering. My servant Iyov will pray for you — because him I will accept — so that I won't punish you as your boorishness deserves; because you have not spoken rightly about me, as my servant Iyov has."

So Elifaz the Teimani, Bildad the Shuchi and Tzofar the Na‘amati went and did what Adonai had ordered them to do, and Adonai accepted Iyov['s prayer].

Not so the wicked, who are like chaff driven by the wind.