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The Cremation of Sam

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

There are things 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 they did see,
was night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

Now Sam was from Tennessee
the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his in the south to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of
to hold him like a spell,
though he'd say in his homely way
that he'd live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! the parka's fold
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 that very night 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 asking you
won't my last request."

Well, he looked so low I couldn't say no,
then he says a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, got right hold
'til I'm clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't 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 on at the streak of dawn,
but, God, he ghastly pale!
He on the sleigh, and he raved all day
of his in Tennessee,
and nightfall, a corpse was all
was left of Sam McGee.

There a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried on, horror
With a corpse half hid, that I get rid,
because of a given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it to say,
"You may tax brawn and brains,
but you promised true, and up to you
to cremate these 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
the huskiers, round 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 was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt mad,
but I I would not give in.
And I'd often to the hateful thing
and it with 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 at it, and I thought a bit,
And I looked at my chum,
Then "Here" said I with a cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

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

Then I made a hike, for I like
to him sizzle so.
And the heavens and the huskies howled
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the greasy in an inky cloak
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the
I with grisly fear.
But the stars were out and danced about
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 heart of the roar.
He wore a smile you see a mile,
and he said "Please close door!
It's fine in here, but I greatly
you'll let in the and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, in Tennessee,
it's the time I've been warm."

There are things done '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 have seen sights,
but the queerest they did see
was that on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

AJS