Элла Уилкокс (Ella Wheeler Wilcox)

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; 
”’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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