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The of Sam McGee

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 secret tales
that would make blood run cold.
The northern lights have queer sights
but the they ever did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

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

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

And that very while we lay packed tight
in our robes the snow,
and the dogs fed, and the stars o'er head
were dancing 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,
he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got hold
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll my last remains."

Well, a last need is a thing to heed,
so I swore I not fail.
We started on at the of dawn,
but, God, he looked pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he all day
of his in Tennessee,
and nightfall, a corpse was all
that was of Sam McGee.

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

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

And every day that quiet
to heavy 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 hateful
and it harkened a grin!

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

Some I tore from the cabin floor
and I lit the fire.
Some coal I that was lying around
and I the fuel higher.
The flames just and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I a hole in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't
to him sizzle so.
And the heavens and the huskies howled
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot rolled
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the greasy smoke in an cloak
went down the sky.

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

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

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

AJS