"The New Colossus."

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. 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. 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!

Emma Lazarus

Somebody needs to add As long as your skin isn't brown, you don't believe in the Koran, and your name isn't Ishmael, Mohammad or anything Arabic as a post script.

I think that many of us fail to know more than that one quote, about the tired and poor. We know more than that now....