What solitary distances, what sere,
remote escarpments, what unbounded, wide
eternities they are where you reside,
in which no creatures of your hand appear!
What desolated vistas, and how drear!
Over clear pools, that solitude must bide,
await your sowing like a holy bride,
to cast off widowhood when you draw near.
The orphaned sky descends, graceless and gray,
to angry thistles in the deep ravine
loud with the bristling of the wounded air.
O dawn, O shepherd! Come and take away
this thirst for you—your shining still unseen
by virgin mountains that await you there!
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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