The Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock
The Spaniards at St. Augustine,
And folks of Dutch and Swedish stock
And some from the Philippines,
Here they came! They came from Germany,
From Africa and Japan,
From Mexico, Cuba and Hungary,
From Poland and Ireland.
Oh, which ones are Americans?
Oh, which ones are our own?
Who can we call the native ones?
Who should make this land their own?
The Irish, Dutch or Africans?
The French or Japanese?
The Cubans or Hungarians?
The Spanish or Chinese?
Whenever at a big parade
Our flag comes into view,
The French and Spanish serenade.
The Japanese sing out, too.
And all whose ancestors have come
From lands across the sea,
All raise their voice and sing as one "My country 'tis of thee!"
THE NEW COLOSSUS by Emma Lazarus (Inscription on the Statue 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 lightening, 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-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"