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.