Quote

Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey's end.

John Masefield

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John Masefield
Age: 88 †
Born: 1878
Born: June 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 12
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
County of Herefordshire
John Edward Masefield
Ends
Childhood
Littles
Journey
Look
Laughing
Little
Friend
Book
Goes
Looks
Child
Unwritten
Take
Jesus
Mild
Children
White
Lovely

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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet, With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.
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So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.
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His face was filled with broken commandments.
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The social states of human kinds Are made by multitudes of minds, And after multitudes of years A little human growth appears Worth having, even to the soul Who sees most plain it's not the whole.
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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.
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I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
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When the last sea is sailed and last shallow charted, When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored, When the last fire is out and the last guest departed Grant the last prayer that I pray, Be good to me, O Lord.
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The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.
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Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man it has become the amusement and delight of the few.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
John Masefield