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Busy with matters too many for telling—
Saving of daylight and simplified spelling—
Still his chief happiness, as one may think,
Came when he found himself dabbling in ink,
And all his writings, though slight he did think 'em,
Brought him a very respectable income.
His was a mind that was chiefly empirical,
Not at all given to theory or miracle—
⁠Nothing chimerical,
⁠Nothing hysterical,—
Though he wrote verses, they weren't very lyrical,
And he was touched with a taste for satirical.
Though his more weighty affairs were so numerous
Yet he was quaintly and constantly humorous,
Loved Philadelphians, but when he was one of them
Nothing he liked quite so well as make fun of them.

Scarce an invention since his time has burst
But Benjamin Franklin had thought of it first;
Indeed it would cause me no ejaculations
To hear he suggested the new League of Nations.
He truly succeeded in most that he tried, he
Confounded his enemies, and when he died he
Was guiltless of sin except being untidy.
He died of old age, not of illness or tumor,
And wrote his own epitaph, full of good humor.
Every tradition and custom he broke,
This first Philadelphian who dared make a joke!