Under the dome-sky oneness
translucent and unincarnate as thought,
blank as unburnt light,
the hope of thisness chokes in nebulae
of beetles,
sand grains,
hydrogen atoms.
Gnosis blurs, pits the achilded One
against the unfathered Many.
Asks, ‘‘Who could hear each song
in the All Song?”
Yet the high sun has lanced down.
He washes each square inch of earth
with clear sight,
rays through needle’s eye,
kindles motes with all-fire,
searches out my pupil
and graces even me
with light.
Time is short, so I’ll be direct: FIRST THINGS needs you. And we need you by December 31 at 11:59 p.m., when the clock will strike zero. Give now at supportfirstthings.com.
First Things does not hesitate to call out what is bad. Today, there is much to call out. Yet our editors, authors, and readers like you share a greater purpose. And we are guided by a deeper, more enduring hope.
Your gift of $50, $100, or even $250 or more will bring this message of hope to many more people in the new year.
Make your gift now at supportfirstthings.com.
First Things needs you. I’m confident you’ll answer the call.
