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The of Sam McGee

The Cremation of Sam
(Robert W. Service)

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

Now Sam McGee was Tennessee
where the blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the south to
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 he'd sooner in Hell.

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

And that very night while we lay tight
in our beneath the snow,
and the dogs 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 says with a of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right
'til I'm chilled clean to the bone.
Yet tain't dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave pains.
So I want you to swear that or fair,
you'll my last remains."

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

There wasn't a 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 promised true, and up to you
to cremate these remains."

Now, a promise is a debt unpaid
And the has its own stern code,
In the days to come, my lips were numb
In my heart, how I that load.
In the long, night, by the lone firelight
While the huskiers, in a ring
Howled out woes to the homeless snows
Oh God! How I the thing.

And every day quiet clay
seemed to heavy and grow.
But on I went, though the were spent
and the was getting low.
The was bad, and I felt half mad,
but I swore I would not in.
And I'd often to the hateful thing
and it with a grin!

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

Some planks I tore from the cabin
and I lit the fire.
Some coal I found that was around
and I the fuel higher.
The flames just and the furnace roared,
such a blaze you see.
Then I a hole in the glowing 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 wind to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat
down my cheeks, and I don't why.
And the greasy smoke in an cloak
streaking down the sky.

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

And there sat Sam, cold and calm
in the of the furnace roar.
He wore a smile you see a mile,
and he "Please close that door!
fine in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the and storm.
I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
it's the first time been warm."

There are strange things done the midnight sun
by the men who for gold.
The arctic trails their secret tales
that would make 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