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The Cremation of Sam

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

There are strange things done the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic trails their secret tales
that would make blood run cold.
The northern have seen queer sights
but the queerest ever 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 left his home in the south to
'round the pole, God knows.
He was always cold, but the land of
seemed to hold him a spell,
he'd often say in his homely way
that sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the froze
'til sometimes we 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
won't refuse my request."

Well, he looked so low that I say no,
then he says a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right
'til I'm chilled clean to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, it's my dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll my last remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a to heed,
so I swore I 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 breath in land of death,
and I hurried on, horror
a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid,
because of a given.
It was to the sleigh, and it seemed 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 debt
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, round in a
Howled out their woes to the homeless
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day that clay
to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the were spent
and the grub was low.
The trail was bad, and I half mad,
but I I would not give in.
And I'd often sing to the thing
and it with 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 at it, and I thought a bit,
And I at my frozen chum,
Then "Here" I with a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

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

I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him so.
And the heavens scowled and the 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 down the sky.

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

And sat Sam, looking cold and calm
in the of the furnace roar.
He wore a smile you see a mile,
and he "Please close that door!
It's fine in here, but I greatly
you'll let in the and storm.
I left Plumtree, down 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 trails have their secret tales
that would make your run cold.
The northern lights have queer sights,
but the they ever did see
was that on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

AJS