June 18, 2018

Your Tired, Your Poor


Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free... 

Thinking about the folks at our borders today.
Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor...
In high school (about 65 years ago) I once played the part of the Statue of Liberty.  The memory brings to mind two things:  

1. Reciting those beautiful words inscribed on Liberty’s base:

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.

Emma Lazarus

2. I remember how extremely tired my arm became, holding up that torch. Today Liberty’s spirit must be weary and weeping. She seems to have lost the ability to hold out her beacon of hope any longer. I fear she has dropped her lamp.  This land, our land, weeps with her.  

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