His roots twine over a stone heap; he sees a house of stone.

His heart is as strong as a stone, hard as the lower crushing-stone.

On what have its sockets been sunk? Or who hath cast its corner-stone?

As a stone waters are hidden, And the face of the deep is captured.

Iron from the dust is taken, And from the firm stone brass.

An end hath he set to darkness, And to all perfection he is searching, A stone of darkness and death-shade.