Heather on the Hill

a funeral with a mountain feel:

There may be other days as rich and rare.

There may be other springs as full and fair.

But they wont be the same--they'll come and go,

for this I know:

That when the mist is in the gloamin' and all the clouds are holdin's till, 

if you're not there I won't go roamin' through the heather on the hill