Godfrey Gordon Gustuvus Gore
The boy who'd never shut the door
His Father would Plead and mother implore
Godfrey Gordon Please Shut the door.

God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers
O'er the wide earth, and tells us all are ours.
A hundred lights in every temple burn,
And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.

God created by religion and its followers no longer exists;
That miserable God born out of necessity does not exist;
He who had for long befooled man with promises of Paradise,
That God created by the ignorant does not exist.

God bless our good and gracious kind,
Whose promise none relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

Day and night I wander widely through the wilderness of thought, Catching dainty things of fancy most reluctant to be caught. Shining tangles leading nowhere I persistently unravel, Tread strange paths of meditation very intricate to travel.

Gleaming bits of quaint desire tempt my steps beyond the decent.
I confound old solid glory with publicity too recent.
But my one unchanged obsession, wheresoe'er my feet have trod,
Is a keen, enormous, haunting, never-sated thirst for God

Drake is going west, lads
So Tom is going East
But tiny Fred
Just lies in bed,
The lazy little beast.

Glæden ved Guds grønne Jord,
Glæden ved Guds Naade-Ord,
de vil ikke kriges;
Lærkesang og Klokkeklang,
de kan godt forliges.

Gjør Ægteskabs Tilbud i Dags-Avisen,
Men tag kun Den, som har Pengegrisen;
Thi Penge — Penge — Du kan troe mit Ord,
Penge blev en Magt paa denne Jord.

Til Gjengangerbrevenes Forfatter
Hold Dig ved Blomstens Form, giv den Værdie,
Jeg Blinde skatter Duften mest deri.
Med bitter Haan og Ring'agt Du mig slaaer,
Bliv ved — — den unge Spire let forgaaer —
Men var jeg meer end Skum paa Tidens Hav,
— En Verden staaer, som Dommer ved vor Grav.

Give me October's meditative haze,
Its gossamer mornings, dewy-wimpled eves,
Dewy and fragrant, fragrant and secure,
The long slow sound of farmward-wending wains,
When homely Love sups quiet 'mid his sheaves,
Sups 'mid his sheaves, his sickle at his side,
And all is peace, peace and plump fruitfulness.