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“O America, I am your Liberty, and you are that huddled mass yearning to breathe free. I am your Lighthouse, the One beaconing [yea, beckoning], and you are that wayfarer—strayed, grayed, and frayed … Now, return, you tempest-tost; lift up your gaze to the lighted torch aloft the golden door and come home.” — Maurice Suwa
O America, I am your Liberty, and you are that huddled mass yearning to breathe free. I am your Lighthouse, the One beaconing [yea, beckoning], and you are that wayfarer—strayed, grayed, and frayed … Now, return, you tempest-tost; lift up your gaze to the lighted torch aloft the golden door and come home.