The Harbor
Somewhere in the midnight, a distant cry is heard –
Longing for an answer, searching for a word.
It rushes t'ward the shoreline from scarred, wounded lands
To she who keeps the vigil and in the harbor stands.
Above the raging battle, her voice across the foam;
A song of a nation with inj'ries of her own.
Yet still she holds the mantle: no fear, no alarm.
Before the ocean, she holds her arm.
"Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door
Upon the darkened sea.
You tempest-tossed: the night is past.
Come unto me, and live your dream at last."
Though unions sever and guns destroy,
Fires rage, and waters rise,
Though towers fall,
She stands in all her glory, refined by every flame.
Relentless and defiant, her message to proclaim:
"Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door
Upon the darkened sea.
You tempest-tossed: the night is past.
Come unto me, and live your dream at last."
"I lift my lamp. Come live your dream at last."
Text adapted from "The New Colossus" by Emma Lazarus, 1883
Additional text by Brian A. Foy, 2020