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, 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….
While riding back to Manhattan on the Staten Island Ferry, this little girl and her family took a seat beside me. I loved how she chose to get up and stand closer to the view to say her prayers.