A son of a bow cannot make him flee; slingstones are turned to stubble by him;
He laughs at the roar of the city; he does not hear the driver’s shouts;
He counts iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
clubs are counted as stubble; he laughs at the shaking of a javelin.
And he shall scoff against the kings, and officials shall be a scorn to him. He shall scorn every fortress, and he shall heap up dust and capture it.
Jehovah of Hosts shall defend them. And they shall devour and subdue the slingstones. And they shall drink and be boisterous, as with wine. And they shall be full like a bowl, like the corners of the altar.