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Author Life of W. E. Gladstone, Life of Spurgeon, Story of Jesus, etc. 


BOOK I. Biography of Mr. Moody, by the Editor. 

BOOK II. With Moody in Chicago, by H. M. Wharton, D.D 
BOOK III. Sermons and Addresses of Mr. Moodv. 






M* 1 



To the People of America, without regard to territorial 
limits, political opinions, or religious predilections, whose 
heart the subject of this sketch has won, whose ideal has 
been elevated by his labor and his teaching, whose life has 
been greatly influenced for good, for time and tternity, is this 
volume respectfully dedicated. 

A New York man wrote to an influential friend in Chicago 
to get a situation or clerkship for a young acquaintance whose 
father was president of a bank in the great Eastern city. The 
Chicago man replied that out there they never asked who a 
man's father was, for every man was his own daddy. 

This tendency to make light of one's surroundings and ante- 
cedents is seen in another form in those who have no regard 
for the past, who know no history beyond yesterday, who live 
only in the present, who imagine that they have wholly made 
themselves, and who dream that the present generation only 
deserves credit for the glory of these closing years of the nine- 
teenth century. 

The steps cannot all be traced in the making of a good and 
great man; it would be instructive and interesting if possible. 
It is beyond our reach to consider all the influences at work 
to make such a character as that of Dwight L. Moody, but we 
do not venture when we affirm that the civilization alone even 
of this wonderful age could not have produced him. He and 
the widely extended and permanent work he performed were 
the product mainly of Christianity, which he lived and labored 
to promot^ 

It is interesting to trace the course of the young man born 
in obscurity and of humble parentage to any exalted position 


in life, and there are many such. Our own country affords an 
opportunity beyond all others for the poor and friendless boy 
to become great by his own exertions, unaided by the favor 
of men, to lift himself from the lowliest position to the loftiest 
place and to the enjoyment of riches, power and honor. The 
biography of Dwight L. Moody furnishes a remarkable in- 
stance oT a young man of no education, no position, no influ- 
ence, no wealth, no great friends, advancing step by step over 
every obstacle, until he becomes a great and successful worker, 
a masterful leader, a mighty preacher, a great mover of men, 
and speaking to vast audiences of people collected by his name 
and held by his wonderful power and rugged eloquence prov- 
ing himself to be the Greatest Evangelist of the Nineteenth 




I. Parentage and Birth 

II. Clerk in Boston Conversion '. . . . 

III. Removes to Chicago Church Work Married. 

IV. Begins to Wholly Devote Himself to the Work. 
V. Meets and Labors with Air. Sankey 

VI. Great Fire in Chicago 

VII. Moody and Sankey Go to Europe 

VIII. Work in England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. 

IX. Grand Depot, Philadelphia 

X. Meetings in New York 

XI. Second Trip to Europe 

XII. Throughout the Land at Home 

XIII. Publications Songs, Books, etc 

XIV. Permanent Work at Northfield 

XV. Illustrative Anecdotes 

XVI. Extracts from Discourses and Addresses 

XVII. Estimates of His Worth and Work 

XVIII. Last Sickness Death Burial.. 


D. D 


TESTIMONY to the life and character of Mr. D. L. Moody from 
the distinguished PROFESSOR HENRY DRUMMOND, author 
of "Natural Law in the Spiritual World" and of "The 
Greatest Thing in the World:" 

"I got a treat last night. Moody sat up alone with me till 
I o'clock telling me the story of his life. He told me the whole 
thing. A reporter might have made a fortune out of it." 

"I hope you will see something of Moody when he is in your 
neighborhood in the early year. My admiration of him has 
increased a hundred-fold. I had no idea before of the moral 
size of the man, and I think very few know what he really is." 

"Moody was the biggest man I ever saw." Life of Henry 
Drummond, by Dr. George Adam Smith, Professor of Free Church 
College, Glasgow. 


Biography of D. L Moody by the Editor. 


Dwight Lyman Moody was born February 5, 1837, 
in Northfield, Mass.. in a farmhouse on one of the hill- 
sides overlooking the beautiful Connecticut Valley. 
Northfield was first settled in 1673 by thirty English 
people form Northampton and three from Hadley, who 
were "straitened for room," and who looked with 
longing eyes on the fertile meadows where "the grass 
was very rank; if let alone it grew up to a man's face." 
Having obtained permission from the General Court 
of Massachusetts, they purchased the land from the 
Squakkeag Indians, who were very willing to sell. 
During the Indian war under King Philip the inhabi- 
tants were surprised by the Indians, many massacred 

and the rest forced for shelter to the stockade. When 



rescued they abandoned their ruined settlement. Some 
of the survivors and the heirs of those dead returned 
seven years after to rebuild their settlement, which was 
again in 1688 broken up by Indians hired by the Cana- 
dian French. The permanent settlement was effected 
in 1713. Mr. Moody was the most eminent man the 
town produced. 

Mr. Moody was born of poor parents, who labored 
hard to secure a bare living from the few acres of land 
which composed the farm. His father was a stone 
mason and a small farmer. He was broken down with 
reverses in business.. When Dwight was four years old 
his father suddenly dropped dead. The widow was left 
with nine small children looking to her alone for sup- 
port. She was a woman of remarkable strength of 
character, and met the trying difficulties of the situation 
with heroic fortitude. In the strength of the Lord she 
rose to the duties before her and reared her children. 
During the long and bitterly cold winters the family 
were so poor that the children were sometimes obliged 
to stay in bed until it was time to go to school in order 
to keep warm, for the supply of fuel was small and un- 
certain.. She was urged to put her children into differ- 
ent homes on account of her extreme poverty, but pre- 
ferred to keep her little flock together, which she man- 
aged to do by tilling, by their help, the little garden 


and doing what work she could do for her neighbors. 

Mr. Moody often has pathetically spoken of this 
period of his life. He says: 

"There is no subject in the Bible that takes stronger 
hold on me than that of the wandering sinner. It enters 
so deeply into my own life. It comes right into my 
very family. The first thing I remember is the death 
of my father. It was a lovely day in June when he fell 
suddenly dead. The shock made such an impression 
on me, young as I' was, that I shall never forget it. I 
remember nothing about the funeral, but his death has 
made a lasting impression upon me. After my father's 
death the creditors came and took everything. One 
calamity after another swept over the household. The 
next thing that I remember was that twins were added 
to the family and my mother was taken sick. And the 
next thing occurred in our family that impressed itself 
on my young mind was that my eldest brother, to whom 
my mother looked up to comfort her in her loneliness 
and in her great affliction, all at once left home and be- 
came a wanderer. He had been reading some of the 
trashy novels, and was seized with the belief that all he 
had to do to make his fortune was to go away, and 
away he went. I need not tell you how my mother 
mourned for her boy, how she longed and waited day 
by day and month by month for his return. Night after 


night she watched and wept and prayed. How eagerly 
she looked for tidings of that boy! JMany a time we 
were told to go to the postoffice to see if a letter had 
not come from him, but we had to bring back the words 
that increased the sorrow of her heart, 'No letter yet, 
mother.' Many a time I have waked up in the night 
and heard her pray, 'Oh, God, bring back my boy!' 
Often she would lift up her heart to God in prayer for 
her lost son. When winter came, and some nights when 
the blast of winter came, and the high wind began to 
blow around the house, and the storm to rage without, 
she would tremble at every gust, and would show in 
her troubled face her anxious thoughts and terrible 
fears, and would pray for the son who had treated her 
so unkindly, and would utter in piteous tones, 'Oh, my 
dear boy; perhaps he is now on the ocean this fearful 
night. Oh, God, preserve him.' We would huddle to- 
gether around the fire on an evening and ask her to tell 
us about our father, and she would talk for hours about 
him. But if the name of our eldest brother was by 
chance mentioned, then all would be hushed, for she 
never spoke of him except with tears. She would try 
to conceal them, but in vain. I used to think she loved 
him better than all of us put together, and I believe she 
did. When Thanksgiving Day would come she used to 
set a chair for him, thinking he would return home. Her 



friends and neighbors gave him up, but mother had 
faith to believe she would see him again. Her family 
grew up and her boys left home. When I got so I 
could write, I sent letters all over the country, but 
could find no trace of him. One day, while in Boston, 
the news reached me that he had returned. While in 
that cky I remember how I used to look for him in 
every store he had a mark on his face but I never 
got any trace. One day, in the middle of summer, 
while my mother was sitting at the home door, a 
stranger was seen coming towards the house, and when 
he came to the door he stopped. He came upon the 
east piazza and looked upon my mother through the 
window. My mother did not start or rise; she didn't 
know her boy. He stood there with folded arms and 
great beard flowing down his breast, his tears trickling 
down his face. When my mother saw those tears she 
knew her boy and cried, 'Oh, it's my lost son!' and en- 
treated him to come in. But he stood still. 'No, 
mother,' he said, 'I will not come in until I hear that 
you have forgiven me.' She rushed to the threshold, 
threw her arms around him, wept upon his shoulder as 
the prodigal's father did, and breathed forgiveness. 
When I heard of it a thrill of joy shot through me." 

In his boyhood Dwight attended the district school 
which was near his home. The paths of wisdom and 


knowledge had very few attractions for him, and he 
firmly held to the sentiment of the old rhyme begin- 
ning "Multiplication is vexation." The only thing in 
which he seemed to excel was mischief, being more 
fond of fun than of study, and the only strong element 
in his character was his loving devotion to his mother, 
which held his wild impulses in check. He grew to be 
a strong, self-willed youth, and worked on the farm the 
most of the time. The little schooling Dwight re- 
ceived was not greatly enjoyed, and his distaste for 
school and study was greatly strengthened, because the 
teacher was a man of violent temper, which he made no 
effort to control, and who severely used a rattan on 
the boys' backs upon the least provocation. In after 
years Mr. Moody told how a happy change took place 
in that school. He says: "After a while there was 
somebody who began to get up a movement in favor 
of controlling the school children by love. I remem- 
ber how we thought of the good time we should have 
that winter, when the rattan would be banished from 
school. We thought we would then have all the fun we 
wanted. I remember who the teacher was a lady 
and she opened the school with prayer. We hadn't 
seen it so done before, and it impressed us, especially 
when she prayed that she might have grace and 
strength to rule the school with love. The school went 



on for several weeks, and we saw no rattan; but at last 
the rules were broken, and I think that I was the first 
boy to break them. She requested me to wait till after 
school, when she would see me. I thought the rattan 
was coming out to be used at last, and I stretched my- 
self up in warlike attitude. But after school she sat 
down by me and told me how she loved me, and how 
she had prayed to be able to rule that school by love, 
and concluded by saying, 'I want to ask you one favor 
that is, if you love me, try and be a good boy;' and I 
never gave her trouble again." 

This school incident shows that Dwight was suscep- 
tible to kindness. Another story shows how tender 
his young heart was to good impressions. There was 
an old man in the place who was in the habit of giving 
every new boy who came to the town a new penny. 
One day the old man put his hand on Dwight's head 
and said to him, "You have a Father in heaven, my 
boy." He never forgot the pressure of that hand. 

Moody's acquirements made at school were very 
meager. He could read only in a stumbling fashion, 
and could probably master not much more than a 
simple problem in arithmetic requiring a knowledge 
merely of the first four rules. . The rules of grammar 
had very little influence upon him, and his speech 
abounded in the idioms of the country district in which 


he lived. He had physical strength and muscles devel- 
oped by constant exercise at labor and play, and he 
had undaunted courage, but he was in appearance un- . 
couth and awkward. 



When Dwight Moody became seventeen years of age 
he concluded that he had had enough of school and all 
the education he needed, and that the time had come for 
him to go forth into the wide world to seek his fortune. 
Farming in Northfield among the rocks was hard and 
unprofitable. Having obtained his mother's consent, 
he started off in search of employment. He first went 
to Clifton, where he had a brother a clerk in a store, but 
there being no opening, he went to Boston and lived at 
his uncle's, Lemuel Holton, while looking for a situa- 
tion. He had two uncles in Boston, Lemuel and Sam- 
uel Holton. He hoped to get a place without their help. 
For a time he was unsuccessful in finding work, and 
endured the bitter experience of the homeless boy and 
of solitude in a great city, surrounded by multitudes of 

Of this period of his life and of his sad experience he 
thus speaks : "I went to the postoffice two or three times 
a day to see if there was a letter for me. I knew there 
was not, as there was but one mail a day. I had not any 


employment, and was very homesick, and so went con- 
stantly to the postoffice, thinking, perhaps, when the 
mail did come in, my letter had been mislaid. At last, 
however, I got a letter. It was from my youngest sis- 
ter the first letter she ever wrote me. I opened it with 
a light heart, thinking there was some good news from 
home, but the burden of the whole letter was that she 
had heard there were pickpockets in Boston, and 
warned me to take care of them. I thought I had better 
get some money in hand first, and then I might take 
care of pickpockets." 

After a prolonged struggle, young Moody, just as he 
was thinking of a tramp to New York, succeeded in 
securing a situation in the boot and shoe store of his 
uncle, Samuel Holton, his mother's brother. At first 
his uncle had been unwilling to take him, because he 
had visited Northfield and knew of Dwight's wildness. 
He feared to have trouble with him on account of the 
boy's wilful disposition. When Dwight went to him, 
however, he agreed to employ him, provided he would 
agree to certain conditions that he should be gov- 
erned by his uncle's judgment in matters and not by 
his own, that he should heed his advice, and that he 
should attend regularly the Mount Vernon Church and 
Sunday-school. The boy chafed under these, to him. 
severe restrictions, but he was in no condition to rebel 


his money was exhausted, and he was reduced to sub- 
mission. Doubtless he came afterwards to see the ben- 
efits these trials were to him. But his trials were not 

over. His manners in the store, and methods of doing 
business, which were original, to say the least, were a 
shock to Boston customers and the cause of criticism 
from other clerks. He acted upon the notion that he 
must fight his way everywhere. But before long he 
was selling more goods than any of them. While the 
other clerks were spending their time in chatting, he 
spent his spare time out of doors, in successful search 
of purchasers for his goods. 

Young Moody had attended the Unitarian Church 
at home, of which Rev. Oliver Everett was the pastor 
and of which his mother was a member, but in accord- 
ance with the wishes of his uncle he attended the 
preaching of the learned and eloquent Dr. E. N. Kirk, pas- 
tor of the Mount Vernon Congregationalist Church. His 
able sermons had their influence, but Moody's devoted 
Sunday-school teacher, Mr. Edward Kimball, most in- 
fluenced him then and in his future life. 

He was converted under Mr. Kimball's faithful 
labors and teachings and his tact to win the boy's con- 
fidence. One day he came into the store where Dwight 
Moody was employed, and going behind the counter, 
placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and talked about 


his becoming a Christian. This decided it. Such in- 
terest touched young Moody's heart, and he soon took 
a stand on the right side. But trial came again. Years 
afterwards Mr. Moody was able to return Mr. Kim- 
ball's kindness by leading his old teacher's son to 
Christ, when seventeen years of age, just his own age 
when young Kimball's father befriended Moody. Soon 
after Mr. Kimball visited him Moody applied for mem- 
bership in the church. He continued for months to 
knock, in vain, at the door of the church for admission, 
because he failed to satisfy the too cautious officers of 
the church in his examinations as to doctrine. He could 
not answer the questions of the good deacons, but he 
trusted the Saviour and wanted to serve Him in every 
way in his power. They thought him very "unlikely 
ever to become a Christian of clear and decided views 
of Gospel truth, still less to fill any extended sphere of 
public usefulness." It was one long half-year he 
waited before he was received into membership. How- 
ever, he showed his earnest zeal by beginning at once 
to speak in the religious meetings of the church, but so 
ungrammatical was his language, and so uncompli- 
mentary his remarks regarding certain hurtful prac- 
tices indulged in by fashionable members of the church, 
that his remarks were offensive to some of the congre- 
gation, and he was asked to keep silence and to leave 


the speaking and praying to brethren who could do it 
more acceptably. One lady begged his uncle Lemuel 
to advise the young man to hold his peace until he was 
wiser, but his uncle refused to put a straw in his way, 
but rather rejoiced. He did not heed this request to 
stop speaking, but did wait for membership of the 
church ; yet he felt restrained and unsuited to his Bos- 
ton surroundings, and longed for greater freedom of 
action and speech. Some years afterwards Dr. Kirk 
was in Chicago attending the meetings of the American 
Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and 
lodged with and preached for Moody. On his return he 
called upon Mr. Holton and said : "I told our people 
last night that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. 
There is that young Moody, who we thought did not 
know enough to be in our church and Sunday-school, 
exerting a greater influence for Christ than any other 
man in the great Northwest." It was this procrastina- 
tion that probably turned his thoughts and finally his 
steps towards the West. He had breathed the free 
mountain air of Northfield, and he longed for some- 
thing freer still. Finally, in May, 1855, Moody was 
received into the church. 

Dr. W. H. Daniels records the following: "The Rev. 
Dr. Savage of Chicago relates an incident which oc- 
curred during Mr. Moody's second visit to England, 



when he took a good-natured revenge upon one of 
those very deacons. 

"At one of his great meetings in Exeter Hall he 
espied his old friend sitting in a corner away back under 
the gallery. The good man, traveling for his health, 
had seen the notice of the meeting, and, partly out of 
curiosity to see what the man could do, he attended the 
service, taking a seat where he felt sure Moody would 
not see him. But just before closing the meeting Mr. 
Moody exclaimed : 

" 'I see in the house an eminent Christian gentleman 
from Boston. Deacon Palmer, come right forward to 
the platform : the people want to hear from you.' 

"The deacon shook his head, but Moody was inex- 
orable ; so there was nothing for him to do but to accept 
the situation and face the audience. He commenced by 
saying that he had known Mr. Moody in Boston in 
early life; had been, in fact, a member of the same 
church with him, and was very glad of his great suc- 
cess in the service of the Lord, when Moody suddenly 
burst out with the remark : 

( 'Yes, deacon, and you kept me out of that church 
for six months because you thought I did not know 
enough to join it.' 

"The effect of such a speech under such circum- 
stances can be better imagined than described. But the 


deacon was too old a speaker to be silenced by such a 
retort, though ne found it difficult to be heard on ac- 
count of the laughter which followed it. The audience, 
he said, must agree with him that it was a great privi- 
lege to have received Mr. Moody into the church at all, 
even though with great misgivings and after long 

Moody carried to the city those elements of success 
that characterized his early life at home. He had the 
rich inheritance of a vigorous constitution, boundless 
ambition and animal spirits and a will strong enough 
to break down nil opposition and drive him on to suc- 
cess. His native pride was all the time leading him to 
undertake things that were far beyond his strength and 
years. A bold push, aided by ready wit, carried him 
over many a difficulty before which wiser, but less cour- 
ageous, persons would hesitate and then despair. His 
mother used to say, "He used to think himself a man 
when he was only a boy." The authority of a father 
was wanting, and he soon came to feel himself his own 
master. Anything was easier than submission. 

Moody began early to feel his dependence on God, 
even before he went to Boston. Once, when he was 
crawling under a heavy rail fence, it fell upon him and 
caught him so that he could not extricate himself. He 
struggled until he was almost exhausted, and then he 


cried for help ; but he was too far from any house to be 
heard, and no one was near. At last he got out in 
safety, and gives this account of his escape : 

"I tried and tried, and I couldn't lift them awful heavy 
rails ; then I hollered for help, but nobody came, and 
then I began to think I should have to die away up there 
on the mountain all alone. But I happened to think 
that, maybe, God would help me, and so I asked Him. 
And after that I could lift the rails just as easy !" 

Young Moody remained in Boston only five months 
after being received into the membership of the Mount 
Vernon Church. His brethren hoped that longer expe- 
rience would tone down his impetuous spirit and make 
him at length a quiet and orderly Christian, according 
to their own pattern. But Moody felt that Boston was 
ho place for him and his ways and methods, and finally 
took his departure. 




IN CHICAGO PREACHING. We had been five Sunday 
nights on the life of Christ. We had taken Him from 
the cradle, and on the fifth night we had just got Him 
up to where we have Him today. He was in the hands 
of Pilate, and Pilate didn't know what to do with Him. 
I remember it distinctly, for I made one of the greatest 
mistakes that night I ever made. After I had nearly 
finished my sermon, I said, 'I want you to take this 
home with you, and next Sunday night we will see what 
you will do with Him.' Well, after awhile the meeting 
closed, and we had a second meeting. The people gath- 
ered in the room, and Mr. Sankey during the service 
sang a hymn, and as he got down to the verse, 'The 
Saviour calls, for refuge fly/ I saw I had made a mis- 
take in telling the people that next week they could 
answer. I saw that it was wrong to put off answering 
the question. After the meeting closed I started to go 
home. They were ringing the fire alarm at that time, 
and it proved to be the death knell of our city. I didn'i 


know what it meant, and so went home. That night 
the fire raged through the city, destroying everything 
in its path, and before the next morning the very hall 
where we had gathered was in ashes. People rushed 
through the streets crazed with fear, and some of those 
who were at the meeting were burned to death. Oh, 
what a mistake to put off the answer. May God for- 
give me if I should give them a week to decide that 
question. It is not safe to delay; answer it today. I 
seldom come off of this platform but what I hear of 
some one who is sick, and I do not know how far sick- 
ness or death may be from you. 'Today the Saviour 
calls ; for refuge fly.' 

FOR GOOD BEHAVIOR but the Gospel of Jesus Christ 
is offered to those that have not behaved well. It is 
offered to all that have sinned and are not worthy. All 
a man has got to prove now is that he is not worthy, 
and I will show him that Christ died for him. Christ 
died for us while we were yet in sin. While we were in 
London, Mr. Spurgeon one day took Mr. Sankey and 
myself to his orphan asylum, and he was telling about 
them that some of them had aunts and some cousins, 
and that every boy had some friend that took an inter- 
est in him, and came to see him and gave him a little 


pocket money; and one day, he said, while he stood 
there a little boy came up to him and said, 'Mr. Spur- 
geon, let me speak to you,' and the boy sat down be- 
tween Mr. Spurgeon and the elder who was with the 
clergyman, and said: 'Mr. Spurgeon, suppose your 
father and mother were dead, and you didn't have any 
cousins, or aunts, or uncles, or friends to come to give 
you' pocket money and give you presents, don't you 
think you would feel bad because that's me.' Said 
Mr. Spurgeon: 'The minute he asked that I put my 
right hand down into my pocket and took out the 
money.' Because that's me! And so with the Gospel; 
we must say to those who have sinned, the Gospel is 
offered to them. 

"LooK AT THAT MAN GIDEON. He marshaled his 
army of thirty thousand men to give battle to the Phil- 
istines. God said: 'Gideon, your army is too great. 
My people would be lifted up and they would take the 
glory upon themselves.' God said to Gideon: 'You 
just say to the men who are fearful and afraid, "Go 
home." ' And the Lord reduced the army twenty 
thousand, leaving only ten thousand men. But God 
said: 'Gideon, you have got too many; if those ten 
thousand men get victory they will say, "Look what 
we have done." Just take them down to the water, 


and we will try them again. Those that drink it up one 
way and those that lap it up another, they shall be sep- 
arated.' Then God took away all but three hundred. 
God said that was enough. 'If I get a victory with 
those three hundred I will get the glory.' I would 
rather have three hundred men in New York whose 
hearts are right with God than a host who take upon 
themselves the glory which belongs to the Lord. 

"I have no doubt but that some here will say, 'There 
are so many obstacles in the way, I don't believe we 
are going to succeed. You won't succeed in New 
York ; it is a very hard place, New York is.' If God is 
with us we are going to succeed. If we take God out 
of our plans we are going to fail, and we ought to fail. 
Is not the God of our fathers strong enough to take 
this city and shake it as a little child? There is not a 
skeptic in the city of New York but what the power of 
God can reach. 

"When we were in Philadelphia we almost failed for 
a few weeks. The crowds were so great that many of 
those who attended the meetings spent most of their 
time in watching the people. We could not get their 
eyes toward the cross for a long time. By and by, 
when the holidays came on, the numbers began to fall 
off, and it was the best thing for us. It was what we 
wanted, so that men could think of God, 


"WHEN WE WERE IN BELFAST there was a man who 
heard about leading souls to Christ. He began by 
talking to his wife, and to his servant, and to his chil- 
dren, and just as we were leaving Belfast they were 
very much interested, but not converted. He came 
down to Dublin broke up his home, left his business 
and came to Dublin. One night he came to me very 
joyous, and he says, 'My wife has been converted.' A 
little while after he came and said, 'My younger son 
has been converted,' and a little while after he said, 
'My oldest son has been converted.' And now the 
whole family is in the ark. And he came over to Man- 
chester, and he came up to London, and now, perhaps, 
in all Belfast there is not one that works harder than 
that whole family. Look at this man's success. He 
found his work was right there in his own household, 
and if the fathers and mothers and sisters and wives 
and brothers will try to bring the members of their 
families to Christ, and cry, 'Oh, God, teach me what 
my work is,' the Spirit of God will surely tell them 
what their work is, and then if they are ready to go 
and do it there will be thousands converted in this city 
in a few days. Oh, may the Spirit of the Lord come 
upon us tonight, and may every one of us be taught by 
the Holy Ghost what our work is, and may we be ready 
to do it. 


> O 

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S H 

o ts 

a c 

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LORD, and because he could not do a great thing he 
never did anything. There are a great many who 
would be willing to do great things if they could come 
up and have their names heralded through the press. 
I remember hearing of a man's dream, in which he 
imagined that when he died he was taken by the angels 
to a beautiful temple. After admiring it for a time, he 
discovered that one stone was missing. All finished 
but just one little stone ; that was left out. He said to 
the angel: 'What is this stone left out for?' The angel 
replied, "That was left out for you, but you wanted to 
do great things, and so there was no room left for you.' 
He was startled and awoke, and resolved that he would 
become a worker for God, and that man always worked 
faithfully after that. 

me some pictures of his twin boys. He had had them 
taken every year since they were born, and they were 
then seventeen. You look at the pictures from year to 
year, and there is not much difference between them, 
but in the seventeen years there is a great difference. So 
with you young converts ; there is not much difference 
in you from year to year, but, as you grow in grace, in 


the course of seventeen years there will be a very great 
change. You want to grow from week to week, from 
month to month and from year to year steadily, so you 
will become stronger in the service of God. 'God is 
able to make all grace abound toward you.' 


SOULS TO CHRIST, and it is a pleasure that angels can't 
enjoy. It is sometimes a wonder to me that God 
doesn't take the work out from the church and give it 
to the angels. If the redeemed saints could come by 
the bar, I sometimes think they would rejoice in com- 
ing back here to have the privilege of leading one more 
soul to Christ. Isn't it high time that the church got 
awake from its midnight slumber? It is time the work 
was commenced, and when the Spirit of God revives 
it, shan't we go and do it? Are there not five thousand 
Christians in this hall, and ain't there some one among 
them that can lead a soul to Christ within the next 
week? If we work, what a great army can be brought 
in, if we are only faithful. I want to say to the Chris- 
tians here that there is one rule I have followed that 
has helped me wonderfully. I made it a rule that I 
wouldn't let a day pass without speaking to some one 
about their soul's salvation, and if they didn't hear the 
Gospel from the lips of others, there will be three hun- 


dred and sixty-five in a year that shall hear the Gospel 
from my lips. There are five thousand Christians here 
tonight; can't they say, 'We won't let a day pass with- 
out speaking a word to some one about the cause of 

It did not seem as if there was any unction resting upon 
my ministry. For four long months God seemed to be 
just showing me myself. I found I was ambitious. I 
was not preaching for Christ ; I was -preaching for am- 
bition. I found everything in my heart that ought not 
to be there. For four months a wrestling went on 
within me, and I was a miserable man. But after four 
months the anointing came. It came upon me as I 
was walking in the streets of New York. Many a time 
I have thought of it since I have been here. At last I 
had returned to God again, and I was wretched no 
longer. I almost prayed in my joy, 'Oh, stay Thy 
hand.' I thought this earthen vessel would break. He 
filled me so full of the Spirit. If I have not been a dif- 
ferent man since, I do not know myself. I think I 
have accomplished more in the last four years than in 
all the rest of my life. But, Oh, it was preceded- by a 
wrestling and a hard struggle ! I think I had never got 
out of this miserable selfishness. There was a time 


when I wanted to see my little vineyard blessed, and 
I could not get out of it; but I could work for the whole 
world now. I would like to go round the world and 
tell the perishing millions of a Saviour's love. 

SEE us PRIVATELY; it was just before we were about to 
leave that city to go up to London to preach. With 
tears and sobs, she told a very pitiful story. It was 
this : She said she had a boy nineteen years of age who 
had left her. She showed me his photograph, and asked 
me to put it in my pocket. 'You stand before many 
and large assemblies, Mr. Moody. My boy may be in 
London now. Oh, look at the audiences to whom you 
will preach ; look earnestly. You may see my dear boy 
before you. If you do see him, tell him to come back 
to me. Oh, implore him to come to his sorrowing 
mother, to his deserted home. He may be in trouble ; 
he may be suffering. Tell him, for his loving mother, 
that all is forgiven and forgotten, and he will find com- 
fort and peace at home.' On the back of this photo- 
graph she had written his full name and address; she 
had noted his complexion, the color of his eyes and 
hair, why he had left home, and the cause of his so do- 
ing. 'When you preach, Mr. Moody, look for my poor 
boy,' were the parting words of that mother. That 


young man may be in this hall tonight. If he is I want 
to tell him that his mother loves him still. I will read 
out his name, and if any of you ever hear of that young 
man, just tell him that his mother is waiting with a lov- 
ing heart and a tender embrace for him. His name is 
Arthur P. Oxley of Manchester, England. All who 
have got children around you and about you, and can 
feel the pangs that agitate the breasts of these families 
whose chief joys and delights are gone, lift up your 
hearts to God for this erring father and for this wan- 
dering boy. If they be anywhere yet on the face of the 
earth, pray to God that He will turn their hearts and 
bring them back. 



1 Kings xviii, 21: "And Elijah came unto all the people and said, How 
long halt ye between two opinions? If the Lord be God, follow 
Him; but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him 
not a word." 

We found in this portion of the Word of God that Elijah was 
calling the people of Israel back, or he was calling them to a 
decision as to whether they were for God or Baal, and a great 
many were halting between two opinions. A great many are 
talking a great many are taking their stand for and a great 
many against Him. Now, what will you do? I will divide this 
audience into two portions one against and one for Him. It 
seems to me a practical question to ask an audience like this, 
"How long halt ye between two opinions? If the Lord be God, 
follow Him; but if Baal, then follow him." A man who is un- 
decided about any question of any magnitude never has any 
comfort, never has any peace. Not only that, but we don't like 
a man who cannot decide upon a question. I like men of de- 
cision, and firmly believe that more men are lost by indecision 
than by anything else. It is a question whether I am not talk- 
ing to many men who intend some day to settle this question. 
Probably everyone here intends to make Heaven his home, but 
Satan is trying to get you to put off the settlement of the ques- 
tion till it will be too late. If he can only get men to put off till 
the "tomorrow," which never comes, he has accomplished all 
he wants. How many in this audience have promised some 
friend years ago that they would settle this question? Perhaps 
you said you would do so when you came of age. That time 


has gone with some of you, and it has not been settled. Some 
have reached thirty, some forty, and others have reached fifty 
years, their eyes are growing dim, and they are hastening to- 
ward eternity, and this is not settled with them yet. Some of 
you have promised dying brothers that you would meet them 
in that world; some have promised dying wives that you would 
see them in that land of light, and again others have given 
their word to dying children that you would meet them in 
Heaven. Years have rolled away, and still you have not de- 
cided. You have kept putting it off week by week and year by 
year. My friends, why not decide tonight? "How long halt 
ye between two opinions?" If the Lord be God, serve Him; 
if not, turn your backs upon Him. It seems to me a question 
every man can settle if he will. You like those grand old char- 
acters in the Bible who have made a decisive stand. Look at 
Moses! The turning point in his life was when he decided to 
give up the gilded court of Pharaoh and cast his lot with God's 
people. You will find that every man who has left a record in 
the Bible has been a man of decision. What made Daniel 
great? It was because he was a man of decision. What saved 
the prodigal? It was not his coming home. The turning point 
was when he decided the question: "I will arise and go to my 
father." It was the decision of the young man that saved him. 
Many a man has been lost because of indecision. Look at 
Felix, look at Agrippa. Felix said, "Go Thy way for this time; 
when I have a convenient season I will call for Thee." See 
what Agrippa said: "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Chris- 
tian." Look at Pilate all lost; lost because of their indecision. 
His mind was thoroughly convinced that Jesus was the true 
Christ; he said, "I find no fault in Him," but he did not have 
the courage to take his stand for Him. Thousands have gone 
down to the caverns of death for want of courage. My friends, 
let us look this question in the face. If there is anything at all 
in the religion of Christ, give everything for it. If there is 
nothing in it if it is a myth, if our mothers who have prayed 
over us have been deceived, if the praying people of the last 


eighteen hundred years have ben deluded let us find it out. 
The quicker the better. If there is nothing in the religion of 
Christ, let us throw it over and eat, drink and be merry, for to- 
morrow we die. If there is no devil to deceive us, no hell to 
receive us, if Christianity is a sham, let us come out like men 
and say so. I hope to live to see the time when there will be 
only two classes in this world Christians and infidels those 
who take their stand bravely for Him and those who take their 
stand against Him. This idea of men standing still and saying, 
"Well, I don't know, but I think there must be something in it," 
is absurd. If there is anything in it, there is everything in it. 
If the Bible of our mothers is not true, let us burn it. Is there* 
one in this audience who is willing to say and to do this? If it 
is a myth, why spend so much money in publishing it? Why 
send out millions of Bibles to the nations of the earth? Let us 
destroy it if it is false, and all those institutions giving the 
Gospel to the world. What is the use of all this waste of 
money? Let us burn the book and send up a shout over its 
ashes. "There is no God; there is no hell; there is no -Heaven; 
there is no hereafter. When men die, they die like dogs in the 
street!" But, my friends, if it is true if Heaven, if a hereafter, 
if the Bible is true, let us come out boldly, like men, for Christ. 
Let us take our stand, and not be ashamed of the Gospel of 
Jesus Christ. Why, it seems to me a question that ought to be 
settled in this nineteenth century easy enough, whether you are 
for or against Him or not. Why, if Baal be God, follow him ; 
but if the Lord be God, follow Him. If there is no truth in 
the religion of Jesus Christ, you may as well tear down all your 
churches, destroy your hospitals, your blind asylums. It's a 
waste of money to build them. Baalites don't build blind asy- 
lums, don't build hospitals, don't build orphan asylums. 

If there had been no Christians in the world there would 
have been no charitable institutions. If it hadn't been for 
Christianity you would have had no praying mothers. Is it 
true that their prayers have exercised a pernicious influence? 
Is it true that a boy who had a praying father and mother, or a 


good teacher, is no better off than a boy who has been brought 
up amid blasphemy and infamy? Is it true? It must be either 
one way or the other. Did bad men write the Bible? Cer- 
tainly not, or they wouldn't have consigned themselves to eter- 
nal perdition. The very fact that the Bible has lived and grown 
during these eighteen hundred years is a strong proof that it 
came from God. Men have tried to put it out of the world; 
they have tried to burn it out of the worH, but they have failed. 
It has come down to us down these eighteen hundred years, 
amid persecution, and now we are in a land where it is open to 
all, and no man need be without one. What put it into the 
minds of those men who give money liberally to print and cir- 
culate this book? Bad men wouldn't do this. This is a ques- 
tion that, it seems to me, could be decided tonight. If it is not 
good, then take your stand. If the Lord be God, follow Him; 
but if God be Baal, then follow him. Some one asked Alexan- 
der how he conquered the world, and he replied that he con- 
quered it by not delaying. If you want to conquer the devil 
you must not delay accept eternal life as a gift. 

Let us take the surroundings of this text. We are told that 
Elijah stood before Ahab and told him, because of the evil 
deeds of Israel and the king, there would no rain come upon the 
land for three years and a half. After that Elijah went off to 
Brook Cherith, where he was fed by the ravens, after which he 
went to Zarephath, and there dwelt with a poor widow for 
months and months. Three years and a half rolled away, and 
not one drop of rain or dew had come from Heaven. Probably 
when Elijah told the king there would be no rain he laughed 
at him. The idea that he should have the key of Heaven! He 
scouted the very idea at first. But after a little it became a very 
serious matter. The brooks began to dry up, the cattle could 
not get water, the crops failed the first year, the next year they 
were worse, the third year they were even a worse failure, and 
the people began to flee out of his kingdom to get food, and yet 
they did not call upon Elijah's God. They had four hundred 
and fifty prophets of Baal and four hundred prophets of the 


groves, and yet all their prayers did not bring rain. Why did 
they not ask God for rain ? Baal was not an answerer of prayer. 
The devil never answers prayer. If prayer has ever been an- 
swered it has been answered by the God of our fathers, by the 
God of our mothers. After Elijah had been gone three and a 
half years he returned and met Obadiah, the governor of the 
king's house, and Ahab said: "You go down that way and I'll 
go down this way, and see if we can't discover water." They 
hadn't been separated long when Obadiah met Elijah and asked 
him to come to the king. The prophet told him to go and say 
to Ahab, "Elijah is here." But Obadiah did not want to leave 
him. "If I lose sight of you this time, when the king knows 
you have stepped through my lands it may cost me my life. 
Don't you know I've been a servant of the true God all the time, 
and I've had a hundred of the prophets of the Lord in a cave? 
If you don't come I will lose my life." Elijah told him to go 
and bring Ahab, and instead of Elijah going to Ahab, Ahab 
comes to him. When the king came he said, "Art thou he that 
troubleth Israel?" That is the way with men; they bring down 
the wrath of God upon themselves, and then blame God's peo- 
ple. A great many people are blaming God for these hard 
times. Look on the millions and millions of money spent for 
whiskey. Why, it is about time for famine to strike the land. 
If men had millions of money it wouldn't be long before all 
the manhood would be struck out of them. Now, the people 
of Israel had gone over to Baal; they had forgotten the God 
that brought them out of Egypt, the God of Jacob and Abra- 
ham and of their fathers. "Now," says Elijah, "let's have this 
settled. Let some of your people make an offering to their god 
on Mount Carmel, and I will make an offering to my God, and 
the God that answers by fire will be the God." The king agreed, 
and the day arrives. You can see a great stir among the people 
that day; they are moving up to Mount Carmel. By and by 
Ahab comes up in his royal carriage, and those four hundred 
and fifty prophets of Baal and four hundred prophets of the 
groves made a great impression. Dressed in priestly robes, 


they move solemnly up that mountain. The king has swept 
along in his chariot, and perhaps passed by the poor priest Eli- 
jah, who comes slowly up, leaning upon his staff, his long, 
white hair streaming about his shoulders. People don't be- 
lieve in sensations. That was one of the greatest sensations of 
their age. What is going to happen? No doubt the whole 
nation had been talking about Elijah, and when he came to 
that mountain the crowd looked upon him as the man who held 
the key of Heaven. When he came up he addressed the chil- 
dren of Israel. Perhaps there were hundreds of thousands. 
"How long halt ye between two opinions? If the Lord be God, 
follow Him; but if he be Baal, then follow him; and the people 
answered not a word." These eight hundred and fifty proph- 
ets made a great impression upon them, and the king was 
afraid, too. These people are just like a great many now; they 
are afraid to go into the inquiry-room for what people will 
say. If they do go in, they get behind a post, so that they can't 
be seen. They are afraid the people in the store will find it out 
and make fun of them. Moral courage is wanted by them, as it 
was wanted by those people. How many among us have not 
the moral courage to come out for the God of our mothers? 
They know these black-hearted hypocrites around them are not 
to be believed. They know these men who scoff at their religion 
are not their friends, while their mothers will do everything for 
them. The truest friends we can have are those who believe in 
Christ. "And the people answered not a word. Then said Eli- 
jah unto the people, I, even I only, remain a prophet of the 
Lord, but Baal's prophets are four hundred and fifty men. Let 
them, therefore, give us two bullocks; and let them choose one 
bullock for themselves, and cut it in pieces, and lay it on wood, 
and put no fire under it; and I will dress the other bullock, and 
lay it on wood, and put no fire under it. And call ye on the 
name of your God, and I will call on the name of the Lord; and 
the God that answereth by fire let him be God. And all the 
people answered and said, It is well spoken. "Yes, sir, that's 
right. We'll stand by that decision." They built an altar and 


laid their bullock on it, and began to cry to Baal, "O Baal! O 
Baal! Baal! Baal!" No answer. They cry louder and louder, 
but no answer comes. They pray from morning till noon, but 
not a sound. Elijah says, "Louder; you must pray louder. He 
must be on a journey. He must be asleep; he must be on a 
journey or asleep." They cry louder and louder. Some people 
say it don't matter what a man believes so long as he is in earn- 
est. These men were terribly in earnest. No Methodists shout 
as they did. They cry as loud as their voices will let them, but 
no answer. They take their knives and cut themselves in their 
earnestness. Look at those four hundred and fifty prophets of 
Baal, and four hundred prophets of the grove, all covered with 
blood as they cry out in their agony. They have no God. 
Young man, who is your master? Whom do you serve? If 
you are serving Baal, I tell you if ever you get into trouble he 
will not answer you. No answer came. Three o'clock came, 
the hour for the evening sacrifice, and Elijah prepared his 
altar. He would have nothing to do with the altar of Baal. He 
merely took twelve stones, representing the twelve tribes of 
Israel, and built his altar, and laid his bullock on. No doubt 
some skeptic said he had some fire concealed in his garment, 
for he digs a trench all around it to hold water. Then he tells 
them to bring four barrels of water, and empties them over his 
sacrifice. Four more barrels are brought and thrown on the 
bullock, making eight, and then four barrels more are added, 
making twelve in all. Then there lies that bullock, dripping 
with water, and Elijah comes forward. Every ear and eye is 
open. Those bleeding Baalites look at him. What is going to 
be the end of it? He comes forward, calm as a summer even- 
ing. He prays to the God of Isaac and Abraham when, be- 
hold, look! look! down it comes fire from the very throne 
of God and consumes the wood, and the stones, and the sacri- 
fice, and the people cry, "The Lord is God," The question 
is decided. The God that answereth by fire is the God of man. 
My friends, who is your God now? The God who answers 
prayer, or have you no God? 


I can imagine some of you saying, "If I had been on Mount 
Carmel and seen that, I would have believed it." But I will tell 
you of a mount on which occurred another scene. That was a 
wonderful scene, but it does not compare with the scene on 
Calvary. Look there! God's own beloved Son hanging be- 
tween two thieves and crying, "Father, forgive them, for they 
know not what they do." Talk about wonderful things. This 
has been the wonder of ages. A man once gave me a book of 
wonderful things. I saw a good many wonders in it, but I did 
not see anything so wonderful in it as the story of the cross. 
My friends, see His expiring look; see what happened. The 
very rocks were rent; the walls of the temple were rent, and all 
nature owned its God. The sun veiled its face and darkness fell 
over the earth when the Son of Man expired on Mount Cal- 
vary. Where can you find a more wonderful sight than this? 
Those Israelites lived on the other side of the cross; we lived on 
this side of it. If a man wants proof of His Gospel, look 
around this assembly. See men who thirty days ago were 
slaves, bound hand and foot to some hellish passion which was 
drawing them to hell. What a transformation there is. All 
things seem changed to them. Is not this the power of God? 
Said a young convert to me today: "It seems as if we were liv- 
ing in the days of miracles, and the Son of God is coming down 
and giving men complete victory over lusts and passion." That 
is what the Son of God does for men, and yet, with all the 
proofs before their eyes, men are undecided. 

What is it that keeps you from your decision? I wish I had 
time to tell you many of the reasons. Hundreds of thousands 
of men are thoroughly convinced, but they lack moral courage 
to come out and contess their sins. Others are being led cap- 
tive by some sin. They have got some darling sin, and as long 
as they hold on to it there is no hope. A rran, the other day, 
said he would like to become a Christian, but he had a bet upon 
the election, and he wanted that settled first. He did not think 
that he might die before that was decided. Eternity is drawing 
on. Suppose we die without God, without hope, without ever- 


lasting life; it seems to me it would have been better never to 
have been born. My friends, I ask you, why not come out like 
men? Say, "Cost what it will, I will accept Jesus." Now, have 
moral courage. Come. How many of you are thoroughly 
convinced in your minds that you ought to be Christians? 
Now, just ask yourselves the question, "What hinders me; 
what stands in my way?" I can imagine some of you looking 
behind you to see how the one sitting there looks. If he seems 
serious, you look serious; if he laughs, you will laugh, and 
come to the conclusion that you'll not accept Him. You think 
of your companions, and you say you cannot stand their jeers. 
Is not that so? Come. Trample the world under your feet 
and take the Lord, cost what it will. Say. "by the grace of God 
I will serve Him from this hour." Turn your backs upon hell, 
and set your faces toward Heaven, and it will be the best night 
of your lives. Have you ever seen a man who accepted Christ 
regret it? You cannot find a man who has changed masters and 
gone over to Christ who has regretted it. This is one of the 
strongest proofs of Christianity. Those who have never fol- 
lowed Him only regret it. I have seen hundreds dying, when 
in the army and when a missionary, and I never saw a man 
who died conscious but who regretted if he had not lived a 
Christian life. My friends, if you accept Him tonight it will be 
the best hour of your life. Let this night be the best night of 
your lives. Let me bring this to your mind, if you are lost it 
will be because you do not decide. "How long halt ye between 
two opinions? If the Lord be God, follow Him; but if Baal, 
then follow him." How many men in this assembly want to 
be on the Lord's side? Those who want to take their stand 
on the side of the true God, rise. 



Luke it, 10: "Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which 
shall be to all people." 

It seems to me as if everyone ought to be lifted up their 
hearts ought to be lit up with joy today. I suppose millions 
of people have read this second chapter of Luke, and many 
eyes have fallen upon this verse, "Behold, I bring you good 
tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people; for unto you 
is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ 
the Lord," and their hearts have been filled with peace and joy. 
I have often wondered what God could have given us in the 
place of Christ; what better gift He could have given us? Sup- 
pose He had given us the choice ourselves; what could we 
have selected better? How many of you have been wondering 
what you will give your children as presents! You have been 
puzzled what to give them that would suit them best, and you 
have listened to their conversations, to hear if you could catch 
what they would like. You have listened to all their wants, 
and perhaps you've gone and bought these things, and have 
them hid away in your houses now, and tomorrow they will be 
brought out. God looked at us, and He found in every heart 
there was written want, want, and He saw what we wanted (and 
that was His own Son), and He gave us just what every one of 
us needs. Some one has said that if a man had chosen some- 
thing himself, from Adam all the way down, he could not have 
selected anything better than a Saviour. There is nothing that 
could be chosen in comparison to Him. God saw what we 
needed, and He never makes a mistake. It is just what every 


man, woman and child in this city needs. Not a woman in this 
building can get into the kingdom of God without taking this 
gift. Therefore, it is good tidings when we read, "For unto 
you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour." He is a 
gift to everyone here. God gave Him up freely to us all, and all 
we've got to do is to take Him. 

You remember, during the war, we used to pray for peace. 
You could not go into a church but you heard the cry going 
up, "Peace, peace."' In every home where there was a family 
altar the prayer was "Peace." That's just what we all want. 
Now, these angels told the shepherds on the plains of Bethle- 
hem that they had brought peace. "Glory to God in the high- 
est, and on earth peace, good-will toward men." And how 
that ought to fill every soul with gladness. There is no true 
peace, true joy, till He comes into our hearts. We cannot have 
it unless He has entered our soul. We have in this text the 
announcement that this gift is ready for us; therefore it is good 
tidings. Every thirsty soul in this building will have peace if 
they will only take Him, because that is what He came to bring. 
When we had war in this country with England, and every- 
thing looked dark for the people of these shores, you remember 
how some commissioners sailed to see if -they could not bring 
about a reconciliation. They had been absent six months 
and you know we hadn't any cable in those days, or fast steam- 
ers sailing every few days and the people hearing no news 
from them, things began to look very dark. It looked as if 
they were not going to have a reconciliation, as if they were 
not going to have peace, but a long war. You know the colo- 
nies were very weak, and they dreaded to have a continuance 
of the war. At last the news came that the vessels were off 
Sandy Hook, and the people were anxious for the commis- 
sioners to arrive, so that they could learn whether the war was 
ended. The news spread through the city that day that they 
were coming, but the day passed into the night, and it looked 
as if the vessels would not be able to reach port before morn- 
ing. So the people went to bed. But the vessels came up. and 



these men had good news, and the boats were lowered. The 
commissioners stepped into the boats, and the sailors, in the 
darkness, pulled for the shore. When they got within hearing 
distance they could not contain themselves, and cried, "Peace, 
peace," and the men took up the glad news and ran up one 
street and down another shouting, "Peace, peace," and men, 
women and children, too, came from their homes and took up 
the cry, and it echoed through the city. The cannon were 
booming, bells were ringing, and all New York was full of the 
joy of that peace. It was what the people wished. The war 
was over, peace was brought, and the English army was with- 
drawn, and we had peace in this blessed land for nearly a cen- 
tury- If we have been at war with Him, here is reconciliation 
today. Yes, my friends, it is good-will to men. If you have 
been at enmity with Him, bear in mind that our enmity can 
cease today. We can be reconciled unto Himself, we can have 
peace for time and eternity, for "Behold, I bring you good tid- 
ings of great joy, which shall be to all people, for unto you is 
born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour." 

If God does not want us reconciled to Himself, why did He 
send Christ? What did He leave Heaven for if He did not want 
to bring peace and reconciliation to men? He came for this 
purpose, and we, as His commissioners, ask you to be recon- 
ciled to Him. How sweet it is to be reconciled to God to be 
at perfect peace with Him! You who have been at war with 
God all your lives, you who have been at war with your neigh- 
bors, with your friends, with yourselves, will you not accept 
His peace now? What would be more acceptable to a man in 
prison than his liberty? I remember, while in England, I was 
told of a man who was to be hung at 8 o'clock upon a certain 
morning. The black flag was waving from the prison in the 
heart of the town where he was incarcerated. A great many 
of the ministers in the churches had for their subject this con- 
demned man. Everybody was talking about the execution, 
and the whole town was excited. The black flag raised upon 
the prison told them that a man was to be launched into eter- 


nity. Thousands were praying for him, a great many were 
weeping, for he was a man who had been very much liked by 
some. They had sent petitions to the Queen, but without any 
effect so far. Perhaps the gallows was erected inside the 
prison, as it is here, and the poor captive heard the carpenters 
at work, and as they struck blow upon blow it seemed to be 
upon his breast, for every nail driven in brought him nearer to 
his doom. Now the hour is approaching. The day preceding 
his execution passes into night, and darkness hangs over that 
prison. How dark it must have been in that cell that night! 
Next morning he knew he was to die upon the gallows. That 
night about midnight he heard the footfalls of the sheriff com- 
ing near his door. He knew the hour had not yet arrived, and 
he began to tremble. "Is he coming before my time to take me 
out and execute me?" The door was unlocked, and the sheriff 
said to the condemned man, "I bring you good news I bring 
you a pardon from the Queen." What do you think would be 
the feelings of that man? Wouldn't he rejoice? My friends, 
the black flag of death may be waving over you, and hell re- 
joicing that you will soon be there, but Christ comes with a 
pardon today by which your sins are blotted out by which all 
your iniquities are taken away, by which you will become as a 
child of God and be made meet for His kingdom. Is not this 
good news? If anyone here is living under sin, you are con- 
demned, but you can receive a pardon, for light has come into 
the world. The Son of Man has come into the world, and you 
are offered a pardon as a Christmas gift. Will you take it? or 
will you send back an insulting message to God, saying that 
you don't want Him as the Saviour of sinners; that you don't 
feel any need of Him; that you've no room for Him? My 
friends. He has come with a gift by which everyone is liberated 
from sin if they will only accept it. 

Look at that prison in Jerusalem where Barabbas was con- 
fined. He had been tried and sentenced, and he was to die the 
death of the cross. He was a noted prisoner, and you know it 
was only the worst prisoners who died the death of the cross. 


You can see him as the day drew near. The day was set, and 
the hour was rolling on when he was to meet death and judg- 
ment, and you can see the poor man trembling at the thought. 
Strange news reaches him. He hears that Christ, the Galilean 
prophet, is going to be executed with him, and He is to be put 
between two thieves He, the Prince of Peace. Then a rumor 
comes to him that Pilate is going to liberate Christ or him- 
self, and he is going to let the people choose between them. 
And if some one had gone and told him this he would have 
said, "Why, of course, they will not choose Christ and allow 
me to be liberated. I have taken men's lives all my days, while 
He has given men life; I've robbed men of all they have, while 
He has only given them blessings; I've destroyed men's peace 
all my life, while He has only given men joy and happiness, 
and, of course, they will liberate Him." It might have been 
that he had a family living in Jerusalem, and in the morning 
before his execution his wife and children came to bid him 
farewell, and I've been told by executioners that the farewell 
between the family of the criminal and himself is one of the 
saddest things conceivable. Perhaps at a funeral you have 
seen a loving mother coming up and imprinting the last kiss 
upon the marble brow of her boy, and one member after an- 
other of the family comes and takes the last look. You know 
this is all very sad; but what is it to the grief of that heart- 
broken wife who bids farewell to her husband, who came into 
that cell in the Jerusalem prison, knowing that in a few hours 
he was to die on the cross. You can see him kiss her for the 
last time, and bidding farewell to each of his children, and 
they go never to see him again. Poor Barabbas! How he 
must have trembled; how he must have been full of sorrow and 
gloom as he looked forward to the death he was to die, and 
thought of those he was leaving behind. By and by he hears a 
footfall upon the corridor. Nearer and nearer it comes. "Are 
they going to take me to execution now?" he asks himself. The 
bolts are pulled, the door is swung open, and the sheriff cries 
out, "Barabbas, you are free; go where you please!" I can see 


that poor, condemned man looking at the officer. "What! 
What do you tell me! I am free? Do you mean to say that 
the people have chosen Jesus of Nazareth to be executed in 
stead of me?" "Yes, they have, and you are free." I can see 
him leaving that cell, and he goes down to his wife and chil- 
dren, and he draws that wife to his bosom. "I've got good 
news for you; I haven't Only got my life prolonged, but I've 
got my liberty. Christ has died in my stead." That is the 
Gospel. Christ died for every sinner; as Paul says, "He died 
and gave Himself for me" for each of us here. That's the 
glorious Gospel of substitution. He died "for our transgres- 
sions, He was bruised for our iniquities; thethastisement of 
our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed." 
Will you walk out of this building today and say, "Christ is 
nothing to me; I see no beauty in Him; I see no reason why I 
should love Him?" God gave Him up for you. Not only was 
He given up for us and born in a manger and lived a life of 
toil and hardship, but He died an ignominious death. Say, 
young lady, would you rather live the life of the world would 
you rather life a life of pleasure; would you rather have your 
darling sin than God's gift? Won't you today accept and make 
your peace for time and eternity? and this will be a joyful day 
for you. 

Let me say here that I never knew one who accepted these 
glad tidings who was ever disappointed. Now, God does not 
offer us good tidings, and when we come to look, find it bad 
news. Very often we hear in the world something which we 
think is good news, but after a little we find out that it is very 
bad. It is not so with the Gospel, 



"Be good and you will be happy" was Moody's motto. 

In a eharacter sketch of the late Dwight L. Moody, contrib- 
uted to the New York World recently by Lavinia Hart, she 

There probably never was a man who accepted and prac- 
ticed and instilled religion with so much cheerfulness and 
heart sunshine as Mr. Moody. 

His life's aim has been to "never lose an opportunity to make 
somebody happy," and when opportunities did not offer he 
made them. 

For forty years Mr. Moody has been in the business of 
making people happy." If he had expended the same amount 
of energy and ingenuity in any mercantile or professional line 
he would undoubtedly have accumulated a fortune. Instead, he 
is as poor today as when he started upon the career of an 
evangelist, except for the wealth of love and reverence and 
gratitude that rushes to him from thousands of hearts. 

Mr. Moody's success has not been confined to America. In 
England he made a great stir, and the people of the London 
slums stopped and listened to this bright, fresh, hearty New 
Englander, who got down to their own level and extended a 
cordial, chubby hand in greeting, while he offered them a re- 
ligion, not of sackcloth and ashes, but of rejoicing and thanks- 

Therein was the secret of Mr. Moody's success. He rose to 
his pulpit and it was any pulpit, regardless of place or denomi- 
nation with a smile on his lips and in his eyes which gave 


* practical, living proof of what his religion had done for him. 
Creeds did not limit the scope of his work, for it is Mr. 
Moody's contention that Christ recognized no creeds, but 
"preached the Gospel to all men." 

Pews were never empty, and their occupants never went to 
sleep when Moody preached, and people who never went to 
church, who boast of a "religion of their own," a "moral" re- 
ligion, based on "common sense" and "things tangible," with 
a comfortable logic behind it, went to hear Moody preach and 
Sankey sing just to get inspiration from their cheerfulness and 
marvel at their faith. 

I spent a day at his home in East Northfield, Mass. There 
are few dry eyes to be found in the vicinity, except Mrs. 
Moody's, whose fortitude and faith are a monument to the ex- 
ample of Mr. Moody's practical every-day life. Mrs. Moody's 
interest and help in her husband's work have always been of 
great service to him. During the five weeks of his illness she 
has scarcely left his side; yet with all the mental and physical 
strain there are no traces of tears in her patient eyes. 

"I do not have time to weep," she said softly, for no one 
speaks above a whisper in the Moody home, "nor have I the 
inclination. I am confident he will recover, for he cannot yet 
be spared; there is so much work for him to do, and tears avail 
nothing, but faith avails much." 

The very atmosphere of the Moody home bespeaks love 
and harmony. The house is a big white structure with green 
blinds, almost hidden by massive elms. There are dainty white 
chintz curtains at the windows, with fluted ruffles falling over 
boxes of bright flowers, and within there is something about 
the old-fashioned rockers and cushions and round tables and 
books and the cozy glow from open fires that makes one feel 
it is really a home. 

The view from Mr. Moody's place is wonderfully good and 
restful to eyes grown used to narrow streets and pavements 
and chimney pots. A wide valley slopes from his house to the 
Connecticut river, and beyond are the Winchester hills, with 


the Green mountains rising loftily behind them. Environment 
may have much to do with the tenor of the lives of the people 
of Northfield, which is a sort of wholesale establishment for 
the turning out of practical Christians. "The West Point of 
Christian Work" Mr. Moody calls it, and the schools were de- 
signed not only to give to young men and women who could 
not otherwise afford it a good preparatory college education, 
but also a practical Christian education. Life at the Northfield 
colleges was intended by Mr. Moody not to unfit men for the 
humbler occupations or women for the homely duties of wives 
and mothers, but rather to fit them to exalt these occupations. 
The college girl bred at Northfield is given an all-round educa- 
tion which embraces more than Greek and Latin and mathe- 
matics. She is taught to sew and sweep and cook, and she not 
only plans the best dinners for the least money, but proceeds to 
cook them and clear them away. Every girl at the Northfield 
College is compelled, whether rich or poor, to devote one hour 
a day to household duties, and they contend there is as much 
to learn about the proper cleansing of soiled cups and saucers 
as there is in the solving of mathematical problems, and that 
it is quite as important a factor in an all-round education. 
. One of Moody's favorite stories is about a converted miser 
to whom a neighbor in distress appealed for help. The miser 
decided to prove the genuineness of his conversion by giving 
him a ham. On his way to get it the tempter whispered, "Give 
him the smallest one you have." A mental struggle ensued, 
and finally the miser took down the largest ham he had. "You 
are a fool," the devil said, and the farmer replied, "If you don't 
keep still I'll give him every ham in the smokehouse!" 

Mr. Moody believes in the efficacy of stories. 

"Men will listen to a story," he says, "when they won't listen 
to Scripture, and the moral of a story remains with them a long 
time, and often sets them thinking along the lines they refuse 
to consider in sermon form." 

Mr. Moody has been famous as a story-teller. He has never 


been too busy to stop and listen to a joke, and retaliates in 
kind, no matter where he was, at his favorite work in the gar- 
den or driving to the schools with some of its produce. It was 
on one of these latter occasions, when he stopped to tell a joke, 
that a camera snapped and a picture was taken by Mr. Moody's 




[In the Congregationalist of Boston, August 3, 1893, the late 
Rev. A. J. Gordon, D. D., of the Clarendon Street Baptist 
Church, Boston, an intimate friend of Mr. Moody and associ- 
ated with him for many years in a multitude of Christian enter- 
prises, wrote an appreciation of him, a portion of which may 
well be reprinted at this time. EDITORS.] 

Though D wight L. Moody has been set apart by no council 
and has received no laying on of consecrating hands, he has yet 
exhibited such signs of an apostle that the whole Church of 
God has heard him gladly. How he began his Christian life 
and how he advanced step by step from the humblest to the 
highest Christian service is too well known to need rehearsing. 
Coming to Boston from his country home in Northfield to 
find employment, he was himself found by the Lord, and under 
the ministry of that gracious man of God, Dr. E. N. Kirk, he 
entered on his membership in the Christian Church. He was 
educated for the ministry by ministering in all ways and in all 
times to those needing help. We have heard him tell of his 
resolve, early made and persistently carried out, of allowing no 
day to pass without urging upon some soul the claims of Christ. 
Thus he learned to preach to the hundreds by preaching to the 
one. And no doubt much of the directness and point of his 
style is due to this habit of personal dealing with souls. In 
preaching it is easier to harangue a multitude than to hit a man. 
But he who knows how to do the latter has the highest qualifi- 
cation for doing the former. Personal preaching that has a 
"Thou art the man" at the point of every sermon needs only to 
be multiplied by one hundred or one thousand to become pop- 


ular preaching of the best sort. This is the style of the eminent 
evangelist. He deals with the personal conscience in the plain- 
est and most pungent Saxon, so that the common people hear 
him gladly and the uncommon people do not fail to give him 
their ears. 

Yet his power does not lie altogether in his words, but quite 
as much in his administrative energy. Robert Hall was a 
preacher of transcendent genius, often producing an impres- 
sion upon his hearers quite unmatched in the history of pulpit 
oratory. Yet the results of his ministry were comparatively 
meager; he was a great preacher, but not a great doer. On the 
contrary, John Wesley, by no means Hall's equal as a pulpit 
orator, because of his extraordinary executive gifts, moved a 
whole generation with a new religious impulse. In like man- 
ner, Spurgp^n, by yoking a rare preaching talent with a not less 
remarkable working talent, and keeping the two constantly 
abreast, accomplished a ministry which for largeness of results 
and extent of influence has possibly no equal in recent centuries. 

Mr. Moody is not an ordained minister, but he is more for- 
tunate in being a preordained worker, as well as a foreordained 
preacher. A genius for bringing things to pass, a talent for 
organizing campaigns on a large scale, selecting co-workers 
with singular wisdom and placing them in the most advan- 
tageous positions this is the notable thing which appears in 
the character and career of the evangelist. "The governor" is 
the name which we constantly heard applied to the late pastor 
of the Metropolitan Tabernacle, as he moved about among his 
congregation in London a few years ago. The American evan- 
gelist easily wins for himself the title of "general" among his 
fellow-laborers in the Gospel. He manages the campaign, not 
imperiously, indeed, but with such Napoleonic command of the 
situation and such mastery of resources that all his colaborers 
rejoice to yield him the pre-eminence. 

We venture to say, indeed, that anyone who has been much 
at his headquarters will find here the greatest occasion for ad- 
miration. The number and extent of religious enterprises 


which he can keep in hand at once, the thoroughness with 
which he can command every detail, the inspiration and cheer 
which he can put Into a great army of workers gathered about 
him this we have observed with a surprise that increases 
every year. 

And with all this there is another talent which we have 
learned to value more and more in public men a grand talent 
for silence. It is a rare thing for one to be as effective in say- 
ing nothing as he ; s in speaking. When a friend of Von Moltke 
was asked the secret of that great general's success in man- 
aging men, he replied, "He knew how to hold his tongue in 
seven different languages." Blessed is the man who can re- 
frain his lips from speaking injudiciously, and his mouth that it 
utter no hasty word. In dealing with colaborers endowed 
with all sorts and sizes of tempers this is an indispensable re- 
quirement. To push on the work steadily meantime, giving 
offense to none and holding the forces in order and harmony, 
is a great achievement. It requires a wise silence as well as a 
positive utterance to do this successfully. 

A mightily energetic man is here and a singularly prudent 
man, one who generates great force by his preaching and his 
personality, but who knows at the same time how to prevent 
hot boxes on his train of religious enterprises by avoiding 
friction, which imprudent speech always genders. 



[ Congregationalist.] 

Great as will be the universal sense of loss in the death of 
Dwight L. Moody, it is here in Northfield that he will be most 
acutely missed, most deeply mourned. It is not only that he 
was the founder of the noble institutions which remain to be 
his worthy monument and the pride of our village, nor even 
that his energy gathered here the great summer conventions 
which gave Northfield so wide a fame, but it is rather that his 
impressive personality filled and pervaded our Northfield life. 
Nowhere else was Mr. Moody so thoroughly understood as in 
Northfield. The elderly part of our people grew up with him. 
went to school with him, played and worked with him. They 
are full of reminiscences of his boyhood, and the testimony 
abounds that from his earliest years he was the same powerful 
spirit whom the world came to know as the greatest modern 
master of assemblies. "He was always a leader," said Deacon 
Edward Barber, his sometime playmate and life-long personal 
friend. Mr. Moody was a hill-town New Englander to the 
backbone. Wherever he went and however he might be sur- 
rounded by the great of the earth, he never lost that self-poise 
and that wholesome common sense which are so characteristic 
of the old hill-town stock. He never saw a landscape so fair 
that it seemed to him as lovely as Northfield. He was racy 
of the soil. 

It was amusing to see Mr. Moody in the act of what he 
called resting. After months of exhausting toil in great meet- 
ings, he would return to Northfield to "rest." And this was 
the manner of it: When at home he always rose at 5 in the 


morning, went to *he kitchen for a cup of coffee, and then called 
for his buggy. By 6 he would be among the milkers at Mount 
Hermon, or in the kitchen where the breakfast of his students 
was preparing. If any especial work was afoot, he was sure to 
look it over, master every detail of it and give shrewd, practi- 
cal suggestions. A.t 8 he was back in Northfield breakfasting 
with his family. For weeks together he would address the 
young ladies of the seminary at 9, then look over his huge mail, 
and finish the forenoon by driving again to Mount Hermon to 
speak to the boys at n. 

What his labors were during the great conventions, how 
shrewd, tactful and masterful he was, everybody knows. We 
knew that he was wearing himself out, but he smiled benign- 
antly at our warnings and went right on. 

Doubtless Dwight L. Moody was one of those primitive and 
elemental men, built on so great a scale that of right the whole 
world owned him, but we of Northfield knew him as the world 
never did, and mourn him as the world never can. 

The Parsonage, East Northfield, 



BY H. A. B. 
[ Co igregatioualist.] 

The last time I saw Mr. Moody was when Campbell Morgan, 
under his auspices, was holding meetings in Boston in October. 
Calling upon the latter at the Hotel Bellevue, I was ushered, 
not only into his presence, but that of the evangelist himself, 
his wife and his staunch coadjutor in all good labors, Henry 
M. Moore. I remember the interest with which Mr. Moody 
listened to Mr. Morgan's account of what his London church 
is doing in the way of evangelistic services on Sunday evenings. 
The conversation then drifted into a general discussion touch- 
ing ways of winning the outsiders. It was plain that no sub- 
ject interested Mr. Moody so profoundly as this. He was eager 
to learn about methods being employed here and there. I 
could see that tne main reason why Mr. Moody feared the 
higher-criticism agitation was lest it should paralyze the spir- 
itual power of the churches. It seemed to him that the new 
views often made ministers and laymen unspiritual, and he 
would not hesitate, in private conversation, to point to specific 
instances where that result could not be denied. I am glad that 
my last impression of him, received during what must have 
been his final visit to Boston, was of his tremendous earnest- 
ness in the matter of saving souls. It seems now as if he must 
have realized, even then, that the time was short. 

Every great man is to be judged in part by the men who 
compose his circle of friends. In one sense Mr. Moody's per- 
sonality was not a winsome one. He was often brusque, always 
decided in his manner, but this very straightforwardness and 
sincerity drew about him all types of men. Everyone knows 




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