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The Cremation of Sam

The of Sam McGee
(Robert W. Service)

There are strange 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 lights seen queer sights
but the queerest ever did see,
was that on the marge of Lake LeBarge
I Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from
where the cotton 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 him like a spell,
though he'd often say in his way
that sooner live in Hell.

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

And that night while we lay packed tight
in our robes 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 in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm that you
won't my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I say no,
then he with 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 being dead, my awful dread
of an icy that pains.
So I want you to that foul or fair,
you'll my last remains."

Well, a friend's need is a thing to heed,
so I swore I not fail.
We on at the streak of dawn,
but, God, he ghastly pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he all day
of his in Tennessee,
and nightfall, a corpse was all
was left of Sam McGee.

There a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried on, horror
With a corpse half hid, I couldn't get rid,
because of a given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it 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 unpaid
And the trail has its own code,
In the days to come, though my lips were
In my heart, how I that load.
In the long, long night, by the firelight
While the huskiers, round in a
Howled out woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day quiet clay
seemed to and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs spent
and the grub was low.
The trail was bad, and I half mad,
but I swore I not give in.
And I'd often sing to the thing
and it harkened a grin!

Then I came to the marge of 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 coal I found that was lying
and I heaped the higher.
The flames just and the furnace roared,
a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a in the glowing coal
and I in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I like
to hear him so.
And the scowled and the huskies howled
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 wrestled with fear.
But the stars were out and danced about
'ere again I near.
I was sick dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just a peek inside.
probably cooked, and it's time I looked."
Then the I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, cold and calm
in the of the furnace roar.
He a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please close door!
fine 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."

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

AJS