Surely we can figure out the refugee crisis

CN65YLhWsAQJG6II know it’s more complicated than this, but in 1883, Emma Lazarus wrote:

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!”

When Ms. Lazarus wrote that poem, my entire family had already been in this country more than 200 years — some even longer, if you count the family members who met the boats bearing their soon-to-be-family from Scotland and Ireland. Surely we can — as a world — figure the European refugee crisis out?

Here’s some more information about the Syrian little boy being carried from the water by the Turkish police officer. The boy was 3. His name was Aylan. His mother and 5-year old brother also died when their boat capsized.

Here are a few things people are suggesting in the UK. What about us?

Published by datingjesus

Just another one of God's children.

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