A morning showed its harsh and angry face,
And people stumbling through the slush were stressed.
They crept along, a dim and dirty race
To jobs that no one wanted. I was dressed
For winter. When I felt my worn boots slip
I wished that they were ermine-trimmed and lined.
My icy failures had me in their grip.
I never thought that in the snow I’d find
A simple sprig of striped and purple leaves,
Perfect, in answer to my thoughts. At home
This grew upon our wall. The spirit grieves,
And then a sudden morning’s smile warms some
Facet of our reality with love,
Softens the face of what we cannot solve.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
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.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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