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The Cremation of Sam

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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 queer sights
but the they ever did see,
was night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

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

On a Christmas day we mushing our way
over the trail.
Talk of your cold! the parka's fold
it like a driven 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 were fed, and the stars o'er head
dancing heel and toe,
he to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't my last request."

Well, he looked so low I couldn't say no,
then he says with a of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got hold
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I you to swear that foul or fair,
you'll cremate my 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 looked 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 wasn't a in that land 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 brawn and brains,
but you promised true, and up to you
to these last remains."

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

And day that quiet clay
seemed to heavy and grow.
But on I went, the dogs were spent
and the was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often sing to the thing
and it harkened a grin!

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

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

Then I made a hike, for I didn't
to hear him so.
And the scowled and the huskies 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 know how long in the
I with grisly fear.
But the stars out and they danced about
'ere again I near.
I was with dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just a peek inside.
He's probably cooked, and it's I looked."
the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking and calm
in the of the furnace roar.
He a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please close door!
It's in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the 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 have seen queer sights,
but the they ever did see
was that night on the marge of LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

AJS