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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
that would make blood run cold.
The lights have seen queer sights
but the queerest they did see,
was that night on the marge of LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

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

On a Christmas day we mushing our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of cold! through the parka's fold
it like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the 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
were dancing and toe,
he to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking 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 cold, it's got right hold
'til I'm chilled clean to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, my awful dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll cremate my remains."

Well, a last 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 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
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 true, and it's up to you
to these last remains."

Now, a promise is a debt unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, 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 woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

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

Then I came to the 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 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.
Some coal I found that was around
and I the fuel higher.
The flames 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 like
to him sizzle so.
And the heavens and the huskies howled
and the began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
my cheeks, and I don't know why.
And the greasy in an inky cloak
went down the sky.

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

And there sat Sam, looking and calm
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.
Since I left Plumtree, in Tennessee,
it's the first time I've warm."

There are things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic trails have their tales
that make your 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