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!”
It pains me to say what millions around the world plainly see and hear in our national discourse: our so-called leadership loathes the huddled masses. The Statue of Liberty is a monument to our nation’s abandoned idealism and solidarity with the down-trodden.
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Special thanks to Andrew Hall who runs the Patheos blog Laughing in Disbelief!