Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
At Ellis IslandMargaret Chanler Aldrich
A
More souls come to us sun by sun,
Each ship a city as she rides,
Than manned the march of Washington.
Extortionate upon the poor,
Men rise like flocks from leafless woods,
Then flight a shadow at our door.
Into the morrow of our race;
What know we of the unseen minds?
These hands have riches we embrace.
Our laws with Liberty are brave;
Beneath them men will take content
A wage, a lodging, and a grave.
The races of the world are ours;
No sleepless frontiers here impede
A secret ballot’s sacred powers.
Where trades a fateful welcome burn,
Bequeath your children what you find—
A land to which all peoples turn.