It feels like going mad, this following –
The voice from the starry night, the tent pegs pulled,
Camels tracking through a dusty haze,
The dawn on unknown dunes-the hollowing
Out of normal, ordinary days,
Like meal poured from a sack, till now we hold
Only the echoes of a voice. He told
Us, Go until you reach the promised place,
And Abram went. We’ve all gone, echoing
Each camp with the next one in the maze.
I watch him through the doorway, hallowing
the dusk with dreams, maddeningly bold.
Abram builds his altars, feels the stone;
But I am left in half-staked tents, alone.
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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