Poetry

Hast thou given the horse strength?

hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?

Canst thou make him afraid as a locust?

the glory of his nostrils is terrible.

He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength:

he goeth on to meet the armed men.

He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted;

neither turneth he back from the sword.

The quiver rattleth against him,

the glittering spear and the shield.

He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage:

neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet.
Job 39:19-24

I am, and ever will be, of the firmest opinion that never has there arisen, nor ever will, a greater poet than our God.