His chest is hard as rock, hard as a lower millstone.1
When he rises up, the mighty are terrified;2 they retreat before his thrashing.3
The sword that reaches him has no effect, nor does the spear or the dart or the javelin.45
Iron he treats like straw6 and bronze like rotten wood.
Arrows do not make him flee;7 slingstones are like chaff to him.
A club seems to him but a piece of straw;8 he laughs9 at the rattling of the lance.
His undersides are jagged potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.10
He makes the depths churn like a boiling caldron11 and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment.12
Behind him he leaves a glistening wake; one would think the deep had white hair.
Nothing on earth is his equal13-- a creature without fear.
He looks down on all that are haughty;14 he is king over all that are proud.15"