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The Cremation of Sam

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

are strange 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 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 cold, but the land of gold
seemed to hold him a spell,
though he'd 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 stabbed like a nail.
If our eyes close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we see.
It much fun, but the only one
to was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed
in our robes the snow,
and the were fed, and the stars o'er head
were dancing and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" he
"I'll cash in trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking you
refuse my last request."

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

Well, a friend's need is a thing to heed,
so I I would 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 in that land of death,
and I on, horror driven
With a half 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 promised true, and up to you
to cremate last remains."

Now, a promise is a debt unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, though my lips numb
In my heart, how I that load.
In the long, long night, by the firelight
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out their to the homeless snows
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 felt mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often to the hateful thing
and it with 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 looked at it, and I a bit,
And I at my frozen chum,
Then "Here" I with a sudden cry
"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!"

Some planks I tore from the floor
and I lit the fire.
coal I found that was lying around
and I the fuel higher.
The flames just soared and the 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 scowled and the huskies
and the began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot rolled
down my cheeks, and I know why.
And the smoke in an inky cloak
streaking 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 with dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just 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 a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please close door!
It's in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the and storm.
Since I Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the time I've 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 seen queer sights,
but the queerest they did see
was that night on the marge of Lake
I Sam McGee.

AJS