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Poem	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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