Our Friend the Enemy

A man beset by lying tongues
     May have a friend in every foe:
They tell him what just scorn belongs
To deeds they feign, and smith the throngs
     Of lisping errors ere they grow.

The sleepless eyes of envious Hate
     Guard well our chambers if we sleep:
Like faithful hounds they watch and wait
Beside the hearts forgotten gate
     Wherein some thieving sin might creep.

Who chides the baiting of the cur
     That breaks his slumber in the dark
To hear the morning bit-stock’s whirr
And the hushed robbers rustling stir,
     Just ere they reach their prize’s mark!

The herb that heals us, be it sweet
     Of be it bitter, it is well:
The ?? soil that burns our feet
And speeds from peril their retreat
     Not turf should have the paths of hell!

We need to thank the buffering err
     Of hadean imps whose ?? cry
?? no that good had its due
To ganders that we hardly knew
     While deeming that no pit was nigh.