A scholar—yet not dry-as-dusty;
A pietest—yet never sour!
O, stout and tender, true and trusty
Octogenarian optimist,
The world for thee seemed aye more sunny.
We loved thee better for each twist
Which streaked a soul as sweet as honey.
We shall not see thy like again!
We've fallen on times most queer and quacky,
And oft shall miss the healthy brain