The funeral took place towards evening on May 23, 1891. It was a lovely afternoon, and the sun shining brightly lent additional force to the words of John Bunyan which were printed upon the simple sheet containing the hymn to be sung at the grave: 'The pilgrim they laid in an upper chamber whose window opened towards the Sun-rising.' The coffin was borne to the grave by two relays of bearers; the first consisted of three European and three native preachers; the second, on the one side, of the Rev. S. E. Meech, his brother-in-law; the Rev. J. Parker, his colleague, and Dr. Roberts; and on the other Liu, his faithful Chinese preacher and helper, Chang, the tutor of the theological class at Tientsin, and Hsi, his courier, a native of T· Ss[)u] Kou. His last resting-place immediately adjoins that of his dearly loved friend, Dr. Mackenzie, and the service at the grave was conducted by the Rev. Jonathan Lees and the Rev. J. Parker. Chang offered prayer, and a farewell hymn was sung. Sleep on, beloved, sleep, and take thy rest; Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's breast; We love thee well; but Jesus loves thee best-- Good night! Good night! Good night! Until the shadows from this earth are cast; Until He gathers in His sheaves at last; Until the twilight gloom be overpast-- Good night! Good night! Good night! Until we meet again before His throne, Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own, Until we know even as we are known-- Good night! Good night! Good night! Little Chinese boys who had known and loved Mr. Gilmour came forward and threw handfuls of flowers into his grave, loving hands laid upon the coffin a wreath of white blossoms on behalf of the now orphaned boys far away, and the simple but beautiful service was closed by a spontaneous act on the part of the Chinese converts present. Pressing near the grave of him whose heart loved China and the Chinese with a fervour and an enthusiasm that may have been equalled, but certainly have never been surpassed, they sang in their own tongue the hymn beginning, 'In the Christian's home in glory.' The labourer had entered into the rest he had so often seen by the eye of faith. 'There remains,' he wrote, less than a year before his death, 'a rest. Somewhere ahead. Not very far at the longest. Perfect, quiet, full, without solitude, isolation, or inability to accomplish; when the days of our youth will be more than restored to us; where, should mysteries remain, there will be no torment in them. And the reunions there! Continuous too, with no feeling that the rest of to-day is to-morrow to be ended by a plunge again into a world seething with iniquity, and groaning with suffering.'