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The Cremation of Sam

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was from
where the blooms and blows.
Why he his home in the south to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the of gold
seemed to hold him a spell,
he'd often say in his homely way
that he'd sooner in Hell.

On a day we were mushing our way
over the trail.
Talk of your cold! through the fold
it stabbed like a nail.
If our eyes we'd close, the lashes froze
'til we couldn't see.
It wasn't fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs were fed, and the o'er head
were heel and toe,
he to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll cash in 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,
then he with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet being dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll my last remains."

Well, a friend's need is a thing to heed,
so I I would not fail.
We started on at the 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 a breath in that land of death,
and I on, horror driven
With a half hid, that I couldn't get rid,
because of a given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it to say,
"You may tax brawn and brains,
but you true, and it's up to you
to cremate these remains."

Now, a promise is a debt unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, though my lips were
In my heart, how I that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out their to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day that quiet
to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs were
and the grub was low.
The trail was bad, and I half mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often to the hateful 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 tore from the cabin
and I lit the fire.
coal I found that was lying around
and I heaped the higher.
The flames just and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing
and I in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't
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 greasy smoke in an cloak
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the
I wrestled with fear.
But the stars were out and they danced
again I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I said
"I'll just a peek inside.
He's cooked, and it's time I looked."
Then the door I wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cold and
in the of the furnace roar.
He a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please that door!
It's fine in here, but I fear
you'll let in the and storm.
I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time been warm."

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

AJS