Oh little Christ, why do you sigh As you look down tonight On breathless France, on bleeding France, And all her dreadful plight? What bows your childish head so low? What turns your cheek so white? Oh little Christ, why do you moan, What is it that you see In mourning France, in martyred France, And her great agony? Does she recall your own dark day, Your own Gethsemane? Oh little Christ, why do you weep, Why flow your tears so sore For pleading France, for praying France, A suppliant at God's door? "God sweetened not my cup," you say, "Shall He for France do more?" Oh little Christ, what can this mean, Why must this horror be For fainting France, for faithful France, And her sweet chivalry? "I bled to free all men," you say, "France bleeds to keep men free." Oh little, lovely Christ -- you smile! 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." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM by ROBERT SOUTHEY ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 3. TO THE CUCKOO by MARK AKENSIDE AN IMITATION OF SPENCER by JOHN ARMSTRONG HOME'S A NEST by WILLIAM BARNES ON A FAN by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS BUILDING THE LIBRARY, TOKYO UNIVERSITY; NIGHT SCENE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |