3473
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
3474
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
3475
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
3476
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
3477
Though he’d often say in his homely way that he’d sooner live in Hell.
3478
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
3479
Talk of your cold! Through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
3480
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
3481
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
3482
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
3483
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
3484
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, "I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
3485
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request."
3486
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
3487
"It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone,
3488
Yet 'tain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
3489
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.
3490
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
I don’t know what is going on, but I’ve decided to lend you a hand. 
3492
We’re doing The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service.