And the living creatures ran and returned as the appearance of a flash of lightning.

It is sharpened that it may make a slaughter. It is polished that it may be as lightning. Shall we then make mirth? It scorns the scepter of my son, every tree.

I have set the threatening sword against all their gates, that their heart may melt, and their stumblings be multiplied. Ah! It is made as lightning. It is pointed for slaughter.

And when they went, I heard the noise of their wings like the noise of great waters, like the voice of the Almighty, a noise of tumult like the noise of a host. When they stood, they let down their wings.