THE CREMATION OF SAM McGEE

From the poem by Robert W. Service.

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There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who toil for gold.
The Arctic trails have secret tales that would make your blood run cold.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see
Was that night, near the marge of Lake Lebarge, I cremated Sam Mc-Gee.

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Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam, the devil only knows...
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell.
He'd often say, in his homely way, he'd, "sooner live in hell."

Sam turned to me, "Cap," says he, "I'll freeze on this trip, I guess.
And If I do, I'm asking you, don't re-fuse my last request!
Yet ain't being dead, it's my awful dread, of an icy grave that pains.
I implore you sir, swear foul or fair you'll... cremate my last re-mains."

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He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And be-fore nightfall a cold corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code...
In the days to come, though my lips were numb, in my heart how I cursed that load.

Then we came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there did lay.
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice, it was called the "Alice May."...
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, I looked at my frozen chum.
"Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "lies your crematoreeum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire.
Some coal I found lying around, and I stacked fuel even higher!
Red flames soared, the furnace roared.  Such a blaze hell never did see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal and I... stuffed in Sam Mc-Gee.

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Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so.
The heavens scowled, the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks - I don't know why...
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak streaked into the sky.

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I don't know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear.
The stars came out and they danced about by the time I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, "I'll take a peep in-side.
I guess he's cooked, it's time I looked," then the door I opened wide.

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And there sat Sam, a calm cool man, in the heart of the furnace roar.
He wore a smile you could see for a mile. "Cap!" he said, "Close that door!
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm.
Since I left Plumtree in Tennessee... it's the first damn time I've been warm."

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There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who toil for gold.
The Arctic trails have secret tales that would make your blood run cold.
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, (sing) but the queerest they ever did see.

Was that night at the marge of Lake Le-barge, I cremated Sam Mc-Gee.