Those with heaps of money, made
Or born to it, though they play
With bankers, senators, with generals,
Like gods to mortals, while they
Stroll in knots through crowded halls
Where others bustle, they are judged
Rejected by what they don’t know,
And think because they can command
They are beloved. Not for long.
Time to stand up for the put-upon,
Who must believe the bad do well
Because they would be gods, as I am
Certain all of us are children
Of the Lord, but also humans
Who will die, will fall like rulers
From the high seat to a black hole:
Wake up, judge, the gods decay
And leave the earth for you.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
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But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
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