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The Cremation of Sam

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

There are strange things done 'neath the sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret
that would your blood run cold.
The northern have seen queer sights
but the queerest ever 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 his home 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 sooner in Hell.

On a Christmas day we mushing our way
the Dawson trail.
Talk of cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a 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 we lay packed tight
in our robes 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 cash in trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't refuse my request."

Well, he looked so low I couldn't 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, it's my dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
cremate 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 looked 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 in that land of death,
and I hurried on, horror
With a corpse half hid, 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 to come, though my lips were numb
In my heart, how I cursed load.
In the long, night, by the lone firelight
While the huskiers, round in a
Howled out their woes to the homeless
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day quiet clay
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 swore I would not in.
And I'd often to the hateful thing
and it harkened a grin!

Then I came to the marge of LeBarge
and a derelict 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 from the cabin floor
and I lit the fire.
coal I found that was lying around
and I heaped the higher.
The flames just and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the coal
and I in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I like
to hear him 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 smoke in an inky
went streaking the sky.

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

And sat Sam, looking cold and calm
in the heart of the roar.
He a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please that door!
It's in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, in Tennessee,
the first time I've been warm."

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

AJS