| James Weldon Johnson, ed. (1871–1938). The Book of American Negro Poetry. 1922. |
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| Christmas Eve in France |
| | | Jessie Fauset |
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| OH little Christ, why do you sigh | |
| As you look down to-night | |
| On breathless France, on bleeding France, | |
| And all her dreadful plight? | |
| What bows your childish head so low? | 5 |
| What turns your cheek so white? | |
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| Oh little Christ, why do you moan, | |
| What is it that you see | |
| In mourning France, in martyred France, | |
| And her great agony? | 10 |
| Does she recall your own dark day, | |
| Your own Gethsemane? | |
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| Oh little Christ, why do you weep, | |
| Why flow your tears so sore | |
| For pleading France, for praying France, | 15 |
| A suppliant at God’s door? | |
| “God sweetened not my cup,” you say, | |
| “Shall He for France do more?” | |
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| Oh little Christ, what can this mean, | |
| Why must this horror be | 20 |
| For fainting France, for faithful France, | |
| And her sweet chivalry? | |
| “I bled to free all men,” you say | |
| “France bleeds to keep men free.” | |
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| Oh little, lovely Christ—you smile! | 25 |
| What guerdon is in store | |
| For gallant France, for glorious France, | |
| And all her valiant corps? | |
| “Behold I live, and France, like me; | |
| Shall live for evermore.” | 30 |
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