He shall make the deep sea to boil like a pot, and shall make it as when ointments boil.
I will deliver them out of the hand of death. I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy death; O hell, I will be thy bite: comfort is hidden from my eyes.
He sleepeth under the shadow, in the covert of the reed, and in moist places.
Wilt thou give strength to the horse, or clothe his neck with neighing?
The beams of the sun shall be under him: and he shall strew gold under him like mire.
A path shall shine after him: he shall esteem the deep as growing old.