Poem by 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.

1. The Birth of the Orchid
2. The Call (All wantonly in hours of joy)
3. Be Not Attached
4. Behold the Earth
5. The Black Charger

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