When you fear the barber-s mirror when you go to get a crop,
Or in sorrow every morning comb your hair across the top:
When you titivate and do the little things you never used-
It is close upon the season when your sins come home to roost.

Many were the sins of others and you never were to blame,
Some were sins you shared in common-you must suffer all the same;
Some were sins of wasted hours with the wine cup or a mate,
But you cannot share the burden-and they come in duplicate.

Oh! you-ll find the fowls are heavy and their claws are sharp and deep-
They will bow your head in working, they will jerk you from your sleep,
And so many hands are eager just to give your back a boost
On the road to wreck and ruin when your sins come home to roost.

But you don-t let on they-re roosting and you take some only way,
And you never whine or guzzle and you neither curse nor pray;
You will never for an instant let your lower lip be loosed-
But you stand up like a soldier when your sins come home to roost!

And you-ll find them growing lighter till you find room for a few
Of the sins of other mortals who have weaker souls than you:
Then you-ll smile, and not too sadly, at old sins reintroduced-
And you-ll be a man in many when your sins come home to roost.