O My Children, do you hear your elders sighing?
Do you wonder that senility should find
Your encyclopædic 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 Little Ones, your parents were contented
With an omnibus of two-horse pow'r alone,
In an epoch when the Underground was scented
With a fragrance all its own.
Now the trains have doors that pinch us as we enter,
And suspended to a strap we strive to stand;
Or we nimbly board an — Arrow, —
And our backbone turns to marrow,
As we skid along the Strand!

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
Can'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!