27 He counteth iron as straw, [And] brass as rotten wood.
28 The arrow cannot make him flee: Sling-stones are turned with him into stubble.
29 Clubs are counted as stubble: He laugheth at the rushing of the javelin.
30 His underparts are [like] sharp potsherds: He spreadeth [as it were] a threshing-wain upon the mire.
31 He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: He maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.
32 He maketh a path to shine after him; One would think the deep to be hoary.
33 Upon earth there is not his like, That is made without fear.
