Its bones are tubes of bronze, its limbs like rods of iron.
It ranks first among the works of God, yet its Maker can approach it with his sword.
The hills bring it their produce, and all the wild animals play nearby.
Under the lotus plants it lies, hidden among the reeds in the marsh.
The lotuses conceal it in their shadow; the poplars by the stream surround it.
A raging river does not alarm it; it is secure, though the Jordan should surge against its mouth.
Can anyone capture it by the eyes, or trap it and pierce its nose?