The arrow can't make him flee. Sling stones are like chaff to him.
He scorns the tumult of the city, neither does he hear the shouting of the driver.
He counts iron as straw; and brass as rotten wood.
Clubs are counted as stubble. He laughs at the rushing of the javelin.
Yes, he scoffs at kings, and princes are a derision to him. He laughs at every stronghold, for he builds up an earthen ramp, and takes it.
The LORD of Armies will defend them; and they will destroy and overcome with sling stones; and they will drink, and roar as through wine; and they will be filled like bowls, like the corners of the altar.