A sword that reaches him has no effect— nor with a spear, dart, or javelin.
May its morning stars be darkened; may it hope for light but have none— may it never see the eyelids of dawn.
“When he rises up, the mighty are afraid; at his crashing they retreat.
He regards iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
His head and His hair were white like wool, white like snow, and His eyes like a flame of fire.