Foes

Thank Fate for foes!    I hold mine dear          As valued friends.    He cannot know     The zest of life who runneth here          His earthly race without a foe.     I saw a prize.    "Run," cried my friend;          "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt."     But ere I half-way reached the end,          I felt my strength was giving out.     My foe looked on the while I ran;          A scornful triumph lit his eyes.     With that perverseness born in man,          I nerved myself, and won the prize.     All blinded by the crimson glow          Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate.     "I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe,          I saved myself, and balked his hate.     For half my blessings, half my gain,          I needs must thank my trusty foe;     Despite his envy and disdain,          He serves me well where'er I go.     So may I keep him to the end,          Nor may his enmity abate:     More faithful than the fondest friend,          He guards me ever with his hate.