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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.

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
Last
Field
Departed
Death
Praying
Guest
Good
Sea
Grant
Fields
Harvest
Fire
Shallow
Charted
Prayer
Guests
Reaped
Lord
Grants
Sailed
Lasts
Pray
Stored

More quotes by John Masefield

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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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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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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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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Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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In the dark room where I began My mother's life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, But through the death of some of her.
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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
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All the great things of life are swiftly done, Creation, death, and love the double gate. However much we dawdle in the sun We have to hurry at the touch of Fate.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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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.
John Masefield
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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
John Masefield
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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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Man cannot call the brimming instant back Time's an affair of instants spun to days If man must make an instant gold, or black, Let him, he may but Time must go his ways. Life may be duller for an instant's blaze. Life's an affair of instants spun to years, Instants are only cause of all these tears.
John Masefield
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
John Masefield
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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
John Masefield
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
John Masefield
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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
John Masefield
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Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
John Masefield
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
John Masefield