Mother of Exiles

Mother of Exiles

Daniel Stine ©2008

(written upon the Stutue of Liberty)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
with conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
a mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
"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!"

I respond:

Oh Mother of Exiles raise up thy flame,

Glow world-wide welcome just the same.

I wish to hear your silent cry once more,

“Give me your tired, give me your poor”.

Oh Mother of Exiles hear my pleas,

Thy imprisoned lightning o’er seas.

Command again against storied pomp,

Thy tempest-tost Uncle Sam did tromp.

Oh Mother of Exiles guarding golden door,

We yearn to breathe free upon your teeming shore.

Standing there at those sea-washed, sunset gates,

I implore you to intervene in this our wretched fate.

Oh mighty woman with your flaming torch,

A grave injustice your beacon must now scorch.

Behind you lies a brazen giant of American fame,

He huddles behind the masses, refusing in your name.

Calling my wife wretched refuse and much too poor,

She wanted only to visit upon your golden shore,

To bring our children and beautiful mixed race smiles

To my homeland. My wife is the new Mother of Exiles.