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Episode 3: The New Colossus - Incantation:
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!"
Emma Lazarus, 1883
We are tempest-tost, my beautiful nation, but we are anything but lost. Each and EVERY voice is a Revolution!