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 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.
34 He beholdeth every thing that is high: he is king over all the sons of pride.