Foes by Ella Wheeler Wilcox — Read

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.