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The Cremation of Sam

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was from
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 often say in his homely way
he'd sooner live in Hell.

On a day we were mushing 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
sometimes we couldn't see.
It much fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er
dancing heel and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" he
"I'll cash in trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't my last request."

Well, he so low that I couldn't say no,
then he says with a of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, got right hold
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet being dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I you to swear that foul or fair,
cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last is a thing to heed,
so I I would not fail.
We on at the streak 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
that was of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a in that land of death,
and I hurried on, horror
With a half hid, that I couldn't 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 cremate last remains."

Now, a promise made is a debt
And the has its own stern 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 woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day that quiet
seemed to and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the were spent
and the was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I half mad,
but I I would not give in.
And I'd sing to the hateful thing
and it harkened a grin!

I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge
and a derelict 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,
Then "Here" I with a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

Some 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 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 didn't
to him sizzle so.
And the heavens scowled and the huskies
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the smoke in an inky cloak
went streaking the sky.

I do not know how in the snow
I with grisly fear.
But the stars were out and danced about
'ere again I near.
I was sick with dread, but I bravely
"I'll take a peek inside.
He's 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 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 been warm."

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

AJS