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.