Skip to content
1874–1936

O my Children, do you hear your elders sighing...

Harry Graham

O my Children, do you hear your elders sighing? Do you wonder that senility should find Your encyclopaedic knowledge somewhat trying To the ordinary mind?

In the heyday of a former generation, Some respect for our intelligence was shown; And it's hard for us to cotton To the fact that you've forgotten

More than we have ever known! O my Children, do you hear your elders snoring, When the “chassis” of your motors you discuss? Do you wonder that your “shop” is rather boring

To such simple souls as us? Do you marvel that your dreary conversation Should evoke the yawns that “lie too deep for tears,” When you lecture to your betters

About “tanks” and “carburettors,” About “sparking-plugs” and “gears”? O my Children, in the season of your nonage, ( Which delightful days no longer now exist! )

We could join with other fogeys of our own age In a quiet game of whist. Now, at bridge, our very experts are defeated By some beardless but impertinent young cub,

Who converts our silent table To a very Tow'r of Babel, At the Knickerbocker Club! O my Children, we no longer are respected!

‘ Tis a fact we older fellows must deplore, Whose opinions and whose judgments are neglected, As they never were before. We may tender good advice to our descendants;

We may offer them our money, if we will; Lo, the one shall be forsaken, And the other shall be taken ( Like the women at the mill! ).

O my Children, note the moral ( like a kernel ) I have hidden in the centre of my song! Do not contradict a relative maternal, If she happens to be wrong!

Be indulgent to the author of your being; Never show him the contempt that you must feel; Treat him tolerantly, rather, Since a man who is your father

Ca n't be wholly imbecile! O my Children, we, the older generation, At whose feet you ought ( in theory ) to sit, Are bewildered by your mental penetration,

We are dazzled by your wit! But we hopefully anticipate a future When the airship shall replace the motor -‘ bus, And your children, when they meet you,

Shall inevitably treat you Just as you are treating us!

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.