Until We Are All Free,

When Angels Visit Earth, The Messengers Of God's Decree, They Come As Lightning, Wind: Before The Throne, They All Are Living Fire.

Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.

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.

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

The Little And The Great Are Joined In One By God's Great Force. The Wondrous Golden Sun Is Linked Unto The Glow-worm's Tiny Spark; The Eagle Soars To Heaven In His Flight; And In Those Realms Of Space, All Bathed In Light, Soar None Except The Eagle And The Lark.