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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.

– Emma Lazarus

‘The New Colossus

This July Fourth, our great republic, this grand experiment of democracy, is 232 years old and, yes, it’s got its problems, just as it did when they signed the Declaration of Independence “In Congress, July 4, 1776,” and just as it did when Emma Lazarus penned perhaps my favorite sonnet of all, back in 1883.

In the earliest years of the 20th century, her words were inscribed on the base of the Statue of Liberty, perhaps the very first sign by which immigrants could tell they had arrived in their promised land of America.

“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.”

This New World, like the beautiful, fruit-laden Avalon of ancient myth, had called them from all the way across the ocean, and they had to heed its beckoning to them, for opportunity, for freedom, and The Lady of the Harbor, her torch held high for all to see, was their assurance that this was indeed, a blessed land.

Today, we are a land once again at war. Crime fills the streets, and the economy is up and down. Still, immigrants by the millions want to come here, some legally and others desperate enough to do it illegally.

They must know something that we who were born here have long forgotten, or simply choose to take for granted.

We shouldn’t. They don’t.

Emma Lazarus died at the young age of 38, probably from Hodgkin’s Disease, but her words will live as long as America, and that, God willing, will be for a long time more.

She was an early American champion of oppressed peoples everywhere. And so the last lines of her timeless work were:

“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!”

I wish for all of you the happiest July Fourth ever, and one filled with the gratitude of citizens who are blessed to live in the greatest nation on Earth.

Jim Bishop is a senior editor for the Advocate. Leave him a message at 361-574-1210 or jbishop@vicad.com or comment on this column at www.victoriaadvocate.com.