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The of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was Tennessee
the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the to roam
the pole, God only 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 day we were mushing our way
over the trail.
Talk of cold! through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a nail.
If our we'd close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we 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 dogs 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 asking you
won't my last 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
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to swear foul or fair,
cremate my last remains."

Well, a last need is a thing 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
was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that of death,
and I hurried on, horror
With a corpse half hid, that I 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 these last remains."

Now, a promise made is a unpaid
And the has its own stern code,
In the days to come, though my were numb
In my heart, how I that 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 that clay
to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, the dogs 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 to the hateful thing
and it with a grin!

Then I came to the marge of Lake
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,
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 the fuel higher.
The just soared and the furnace roared,
such a you seldom see.
I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

I made a hike, for I didn't 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
down my cheeks, and I don't why.
And the greasy in an inky cloak
went down the sky.

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

And there sat Sam, 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,
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
would make your blood 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