A Tribute to Emma Lazarus

It’s that “vision” thing. Some have it, others don’t. Rudyard Kipling overflowed with it when he wrote “If,” the words of a British immigrant who lit up the pages of history with his powerful words to his son. His poem still stirs the imaginations of men and women everywhere. But Emma Lazarus captured the hearts and souls of America with her stirring words, emblazoned for all time at the base of the Statue of Liberty:

“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-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the Golden Door.”

She died three years later, without hearing or seeing much of which she wrote. Paupers, poets, and patriots everywhere, however, are testimony to her vision and her concern for humanity. Here is an update:

What has changed?

In 1887, the Lady in the Harbor was a beacon of hope for humanity
Your New Colossus wasn’t yet a welcoming promise for all to see.
It wasn’t until 1903 that your words were mounted there for all the world to read.
Since then multi-millions of immigrants have read your words.
Our population has burgeoned from 50 million to 340 million.
Virtually all are descendants of those 50 million.
How many today know about you and the promise you voiced so clearly for us?
I can only guess. Perhaps 50 million.
Wars, and sacrifices, and politics have all intervened.
Today, teachers rarely mention your name. Politicians? Not at all.
Patriotism is mocked. Immigrants are no longer welcome.
But there are still homeless, and tempest-tost, and those yearning to breathe free.
Today, perhaps 50 percent of Americans want to shut down our borders to immigrants, or cut them back to a dribble. It is a political “hot potato.” Perhaps we need to re-state your message. How about this?

We are under another mandate
Told with inspirational flair
His name was Horace Mann
And he gave us a commanding dare:

“Be ashamed to die,” said he
as he looked across teeming fields
“Until you have won some victory for humanity.”
And then he waited for his welcoming yields.

It’s up to us to pick up the pace
To act on your words so wise
With nothing to fear but disgrace
We don’t want a consolation prize.

What better vision could we endorse
Than to lend a hand to the brave
To help them shine in the glory of God
Where we can reap more than we gave?