Job 41:31

29Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.

30His undersides are like sharp potsherds, leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.

31He makes the deep to boil like a pot. He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

32He makes a path shine after him. One would think the deep had white hair.

33On earth there is not his equal, that is made without fear.