Mother of Exiles (A Mighty Woman with a Torch)

 

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,

Send these, the homeless,

Tempest-tossed to me

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

 

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lightning,

And her name, Mother of Exiles.

From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome;

Her mild eyes command the air-bridged harbor

That twin cities frame.

"Keep, Ancient Lands, your storied pomp!"

Cries she with silent lips.

 

Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,

Send these, the homeless,

Tempest-tossed to me

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

 

Happy 4th of July!

Done