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The of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was Tennessee
where the blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was cold, but the land 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
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
'til we couldn't see.
It wasn't much fun, but the one
to was Sam McGee.

And very night while we lay packed tight
in our robes the snow,
and the were fed, and the stars o'er head
were heel and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" he
"I'll cash in trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking you
won't refuse my 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
'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 that or fair,
cremate 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 looked pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he all day
of his in Tennessee,
and before nightfall, a was all
that was of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that of death,
and I hurried on, driven
a corpse 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 your and brains,
but you true, and it's up to you
to cremate last remains."

Now, a promise made is a unpaid
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
While the huskiers, in a ring
out their woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day that quiet
seemed to heavy and grow.
But on I went, the dogs 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 with a grin!

Then I came to the marge of LeBarge
and a derelict 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 at my frozen chum,
Then "Here" said I a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

Some planks I from the cabin floor
and I lit the fire.
Some I found that was lying around
and I heaped the higher.
The just soared and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing
and I in Sam McGee.

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

I do not know how in the snow
I wrestled with fear.
But the stars were out and they danced
'ere again I near.
I was with 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 there sat Sam, looking cold and
in the heart of the roar.
He a smile 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.
I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've warm."

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

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