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