There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold   The Arctic trails have their 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 on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee      Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee where the cotton blooms and blows   Why he left his home in the South to roam round the Pole God only knows   He was always cold but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell   Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd sooner live in hell      On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail   Talk of your cold through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail   If our eyes we'd close then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see   It wasn't much fun but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee      And that very night as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow   And the dogs were fed and the stars o'er head were dancing heel and toe   He turned to me and Cap says he I'll cash in this trip I guess   And if I do I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request      Well he seemed so low that I couldn't say no then he says with a sort of moan   It's the cursed cold and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone   Yet taint being dead it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains   So I want you to swear that foul or fair you'll cremate my last remains      A pal's last need is a thing to heed so I swore I would not fail   And we started on at the streak of dawn but God! he looked ghastly pale   He crouched on the sleigh and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee   And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee      There wasn't a breath in that land of death and I hurried horror-driven   With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid because of a promise given   It was lashed to the sleigh and it seemed to say you may tax your brawn and brains   But you promised true and it's up to you to cremate those last remains      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 dumb in my heart how I cursed that load   In the long long night by the lone firelight while the huskies round in a ring   Howled out their woes to the homeless snows oh God! how I loathed the thing      And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow   And on I went though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low   The trail was bad and I felt half mad but I swore I would not give in   And I'd often sing to the hateful thing and it hearkened with a grin      Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge and a derelict there 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 and I looked at my frozen chum   Then Here said I with a sudden cry is my crematoreum      Some planks I tore from the cabin floor and I lit the boiler fire   Some coal I found that was lying around and I heaped the fuel higher   The flames just soared and the furnace roared such a blaze you seldom see   And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal and I stuffed in Sam McGee      Then I made a hike for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so   And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled and the wind began to blow   It was icy cold but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks and I don't know why   And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky      I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear   But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near   I was sick with dread but I bravely said: I'll just take a peep inside   I guess he's cooked and it's time I looked then the door I opened wide      And there sat Sam looking cool and calm in the heart of the furnace roar   And he wore a smile you could see a mile and he said please close that door   It's fine in here but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm   Since I left Plumtree down in Tennessee it's the first time I've been warm      There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold    The Arctic trails have their 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 on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee