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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Foes
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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; 
      "`T is 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 wher`er I go.

So may I keep him to the end, 
      Nor may his enmity abate; 
More faithful that the fondest friend, 
      He guards me with his hate.
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