Sleep, infant, sleep
among the oxen and the sheep
which kneel before your manger.
Welcome to danger.
When you become a man
preach us the Good News while you can
before you bear the scourge and cross,
an everlasting loss
we all bear to the grave
with guilt. It was your doom to save
us sinners, us ungodly men
whose sins slay you again.
You could have claimed your own
Egypt, a Pharaoh’s golden throne.
Instead, child, you are humbly born
as Gabriel blows his horn.
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.
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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.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
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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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