"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 [bad word] 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 [bad word] 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