Haven't you poured me out like milk, and curdled me like cheese?

though I am decaying like a rotten thing, like a garment that is moth-eaten.

He comes forth like a flower, and is cut down. He also flees like a shadow, and doesn't continue.

What man is like Job, who drinks scorn like water,

Or do you have an arm like God? Can you thunder with a voice like him?

His bones are like tubes of brass. His limbs are like bars of iron.

His undersides are like sharp potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.

He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.