Wheeling through the clotted earth,
Bronze, bone, and leather clumped in clay,
We rolled below the world’s new birth
While all the old was burned away.
We thundered through our barrows
Beneath the deepening harrows
Until the plow dragged in the light of day.
Then came the scholar’s brush for bone,
With pick and trowel to nip around.
We had been better left alone
Than raised beneath this scratching sound.
Now our horses stand
Chest-deep in ashy sand,
And we’re pulled screaming from unhallowed ground.
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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