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The of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was Tennessee
where the blooms and blows.
Why he his home in the south to roam
'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 mushing our way
over the trail.
Talk of your cold! the parka's fold
it stabbed a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the froze
'til sometimes we see.
It much fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And that night while we lay packed tight
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er
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
refuse 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 chilled through to the bone.
Yet tain't dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I want you to swear foul or fair,
cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a 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
that was of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a in that land of death,
and I hurried on, driven
With a corpse half hid, that I get rid,
of a promise 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 made is a debt unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, though my lips numb
In my heart, how I cursed load.
In the long, long night, by the lone
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out their woes to the homeless
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day that quiet
seemed to 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 would not in.
And I'd sing to the hateful thing
and it harkened a grin!

I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge
and a there lay.
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a
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.
coal I found that was lying around
and I the fuel higher.
The just soared and the furnace roared,
such a blaze you 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 heavens scowled and the howled
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I don't why.
And the greasy smoke in an inky
went down the sky.

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

And there sat Sam, looking cold and
in the of the furnace roar.
He wore a you could see a mile,
and he said "Please close door!
It's in here, but I greatly fear
let in the cold and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, 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 arctic trails have secret tales
would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights seen queer sights,
but the queerest ever did see
was night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

AJS