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The Cremation of Sam

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

There are strange things done 'neath the sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret
that would make your run cold.
The northern lights seen queer sights
but the they ever did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was Tennessee
where the blooms and blows.
Why he his home in the south to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was cold, but the land of gold
to hold him like a spell,
though often say in his homely way
that sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's
it like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes
sometimes we couldn't see.
It wasn't fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And very night while we lay packed tight
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs fed, and the stars o'er head
were heel and toe,
he to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I say no,
he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right
'til I'm clean through to the bone.
Yet being dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to swear foul or fair,
cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last is a thing to heed,
so I swore I not fail.
We on at the streak of dawn,
but, God, he ghastly pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he all day
of his in Tennessee,
and before nightfall, a was all
was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a in that land of death,
and I hurried on, driven
With a corpse half hid, I couldn't get rid,
of a promise given.
It was to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,
"You may tax brawn and brains,
but you true, and it's up to you
to these last remains."

Now, a promise is a debt unpaid
And the has its own stern code,
In the days to come, though my lips numb
In my heart, how I cursed load.
In the long, long night, by the firelight
While the huskiers, round in a
out their woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day quiet clay
seemed to and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the were spent
and the grub was low.
The was bad, and I felt half mad,
but I I would not give in.
And I'd often sing to the thing
and it harkened a grin!

Then I came to the marge of LeBarge
and a there lay.
It was in the ice, but I saw in a trice
it was the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I a bit,
And I looked at my chum,
"Here" said I with a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

Some planks I from the cabin floor
and I lit the fire.
Some coal I found was lying around
and I the fuel higher.
The flames soared and the furnace roared,
such a blaze you see.
Then I burrowed a in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

I made a hike, for I didn't like
to him sizzle so.
And the scowled and the huskies howled
and the began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I don't why.
And the smoke in an inky cloak
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how in the snow
I with grisly fear.
But the stars were out and danced about
'ere I ventured near.
I was sick dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just a peek inside.
He's probably cooked, and it's I looked."
the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cold and
in the heart of the roar.
He wore a you could see a mile,
and he "Please close that door!
fine in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the and storm.
Since I Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the time I've been warm."

There are strange things 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The trails have their secret tales
that would make your run cold.
The northern lights seen queer sights,
but the queerest ever did see
was that on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

AJS