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The of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

There are things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic have their secret tales
would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen sights
but the they 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 left his in the south to roam
the pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the of gold
seemed to him like a spell,
though he'd say in his homely way
that sooner live in Hell.

On a day we were mushing our way
over the trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's
it like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the froze
sometimes we couldn't see.
It wasn't fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

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

Well, a friend's last is a thing to heed,
so I swore I 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
that was of Sam McGee.

There a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried on, driven
With a corpse hid, that I couldn't get rid,
of a promise 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 made is a unpaid
And the has its own stern code,
In the days to come, though my lips numb
In my heart, how I that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone
While the huskiers, round in a
Howled out their woes to the snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day quiet clay
to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, the dogs 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 sing to the hateful thing
and it harkened a grin!

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

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

Then I a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him so.
And the scowled and the huskies howled
and the wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot rolled
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the greasy smoke in an inky
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the
I wrestled with fear.
But the stars were out and danced about
'ere I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I said
"I'll just take a inside.
He's probably cooked, and it's I looked."
the door I opened wide.

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

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

AJS