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"Give to me your tired and your poor |
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Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free |
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The wretched refuse of your teeming shore |
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Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me." |
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Blessed are the persecuted |
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And blessed are the pure in heart |
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Blessed are the merciful |
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And blessed are the ones who mourn |
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The step is hard that tears away the roots |
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And says goodbye to friends and family |
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The fathers and the mothers weep |
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The children cannot comprehend |
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But when there is a promised land |
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The brave will go and others follow |
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The beauty of the human spirit |
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Is the will to try our dreams |
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And so the masses teemed across the ocean |
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To a land of peace and hope |
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But no one heard a voice or saw a light |
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As they were tumbled onto shore |
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And none was welcomed by the echo of the phrase |
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"I lift my lamp beside the golden door." |
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Blessed are the persecuted |
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And blessed are the pure in heart |
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Blessed are the merciful |
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And blessed are the ones who mourn |
