Emma Lazarus (1849–1887)

SHE feels outwearied, as though o’er her head

A storm of mighty billows broke and passed.

Whose hand upheld her? Who her footsteps led

To this green haven of sweet rest at last?

What strength was hers, unreckoned and unknown?

What love sustained when she was most alone?…

Though by no reason she be justified,

Yet strangely brave in Evil’s very face,

She deems this want must needs be satisfied,

Though here all slips from out her weak embrace.

And in blind ecstasy of perfect faith,

With her own dream her prayer she answereth.