29 Clubs are counted as stubble.He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.
30 His undersides are like sharp potsherds,leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.
31 He makes the deep to boil like a pot.He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
32 He makes a path shine after him.One would think the deep had white hair.
33 On earth there is not his equal,that is made without fear.