Comment: Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to be free,
The wretched refuse of your teaming shore,
Send those, the homeless, tempest tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

 Engraved on the Statute of Liberty.

Unless you are Native American, your ancestors were immigrants and probably came here with pretty much nothing. 

Analysis can be found on-line about the cost of losing these people who harvest our crops, mow our lawns and do other labor that Americans won't do.