He laugheth at fear, and is not affrighted, And he turneth not back from the face of the sword.
Her young ones it hath hardened without her, In vain `is' her labour without fear.
At the time on high she lifteth herself up, She laugheth at the horse and at his rider.
They dig in a valley, and he rejoiceth in power, He goeth forth to meet the armour.
Against him rattle doth quiver, The flame of a spear, and a halbert.
There is not on the earth his like, That is made without terror.
The sound of a whip, And the sound of the rattling of a wheel, And of a prancing horse, and of a bounding chariot, Of a horseman mounting.