Still Ours The Dance, The Feast, The

There Is No Comfort Looking Forth Nor Back, The Present Gives The Lie To All Her Past.

Kindle The Taper Like The Steadfast Star Ablaze On Evening's Forehead O'er The Earth, And Add Each Night A Lustre Till Afar An Eightfold Splendor Shine Above Thy Hearth.

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-tossed, To Me: I Lift My Lamp Beside The Golden Door.

Until We Are All Free, We Are None Of Us Free.

Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses Yearning To Breathe Free.