Текст песни
Not a giant of old, carved in stone and pride,
Not a god of war with the sea on each side.
But a woman stands where the tides have kissed,
With a torch of fire in her trembling fist.
She calls through storms, she calls through years,
Her voice still ringing in the strangers’ ears.
“Come to me, all the lost and the poor,
Find your hope at the golden door.”
Give me your tired, your broken, your brave,
Your dreamers crossing the waves.
Your hearts that hunger to be free—
The light still burns for all to see.
I lift my lamp through the dark before,
And I open wide the golden door.
(verse)
Ancient lands keep their pomp and crown,
But this flame will never bow down.
Through every storm, every cry, every name,
The mother of exiles still guards her flame.
She’s not of marble, but mercy and fire,
Holding the dreams that never tire.
“Come to me, all the torn and unsure,
Find your home at the golden door.”
Give me your tired, your broken, your brave,
Your dreamers crossing the waves.
Your hearts that hunger to be free—
The light still burns for all to see.
I lift my lamp through the dark before,
And I open wide the golden door.
Here by the sea, she stands once more,
A mighty woman at freedom’s shore.
