Moody said that being at Cambridge and Oxford were two of the happiest weeks of his life. So, he clearly felt a lot of good work had been done. I do not think the results in Oxford were as good as Cambridge, but they were still important.
AS the very embodiment of modern culture and worldly wisdom, Oxford is one of the most unlikely places in the land for the reception of a message that addresses itself not so much to the head as to the heart. There is a certain kind of religiousness that wins plenty of favour in this classic centre, but it is not of the Evangelical type. The great High Church movement, of which Oxford has been the nursing mother, finds expression chiefly in "bricks and mortar and holy places," as Mr Radclifte tersely put it the other day. The primitive Gospel that Mr Moody preaches lays small store on these things; it plainly tells the man of learning that if he would enter the kingdom of heaven he must divest himself of all his pride of culture and scholastic lore, receiving the gift of salvation on the same terms as the country yokel who is innocent of the rudiments of knowledge, or the beggar on the dunghill. Not that there is any essential antagonism between Christianity and culture; far from it. Mental gifts and attainments are "good creatures of God," and when devoted to his service become mighty levers of influence in ameliorating the condition of the race. But when they tend to glorify the creature to the obscuring of the glory of the Creator, they are nothing, and worse than nothing.
This Gospel of self-humiliation is not one that is acceptable to the natural man, however illiterate he may be; much less acceptable is it to the man who is steeped in all the wisdom of the schools, and therefore considers himself a very superior sort of being. Yet it is no exaggeration to say, that nowhere throughout the length and breadth of the land has the evangelistic mission of Messrs Moody and Sankey met with more remarkable vindication and success than in this proud seat of human learning.
God has more than rewarded the strongest faith and the most sanguine hopes of his people in the city. The Gospel of his grace has once again proved itself to be indeed the very power of God, not only to the salvation of those who have believed but in bringing them to cherish and exercise that belief.
The mission in Oxford began on the evening of Monday week, by a general meeting in the Corn Exchange. The crowd speedily overflowed that building and more than filled the Town Hall close by. Mr Moody preached in the former place, and Mr E. W. Bliss in the latter, while Mr Sankey found scope for the potent exercise of his special gift in both. Without going into detail, it may generally be said that the townspeople, augmented, no doubt, by goodly contingents from the country districts, have in the same way flocked to the services each night during the past week. The spirit of hearing and of expectation on the part of the people joined to the Spirit of wisdom and power that have rested on the preachers, have brought about the results that have been so often seen in other places, and so often recorded in these pages - men and women convinced of sin by the Holy Spirit, and by the same Spirit led into the conscious acceptance of pardon and peace as the free gifts of God, who was in Christ reconciling the world unto Himself. So far, there is nothing unusual to tell of the campaign in Oxford.
MR. MOODY AND THE VARSITY MEN.
The work among the University undergraduates, however, constitutes one of the most remarkable chapters in the whole history of this Revival movement. Meetings specially designed in the evening at the close of the service for the general public. On Monday evening the "undergrads" were invited to meet in the Assembly-rooms of the Clarendon Hotel (Clarendon House now stand there). A considerable number responded, and it soon became evident that the youthful effervescence and boisterous behaviour that appear to be indigenous to University soil were to manifest themselves. What happened on the first three evenings may be described in the words of a local chronicler:-
"On Monday evening there was a large attendance of local clergy, and Mr Sankey sang several of his hymns. Mr Moody selected a chapter from the Book of Ezekiel and began reading it. Some of the audience commenced stamping and shouting "hear, hear," in a very impious manner. Mr Moody immediately closed his Bible, and in scathing tones of rebuke said he would rather play with forked lightning, or meddle with the most deadly diseases, than trifle with the Word of God. He then asked those gentlemen who wished him to continue, to rise, and the whole assembly, with the exception of a few, instantly did so. The result was very striking and effective, there being no more interruptions during the evening.
"On Tuesday evening the Assembly-room was again crowded. The meeting was announced to take place at half-past eight o'clock, but nearly half an hour before that time Mr Sankey arrived, and occupied the interval by singing hymns. Previous to the arrival of Mr Moody, the Principal of Wycliffe Hall gave some details of the life and work of Mr Moody. He knew it was anything but pleasant for them last night to feel that there was a little ripple on their surface, but he was convinced of this, that if any were there that night who were there last night not quite in sympathy with what was said and done, they must feel, after mature reflection, that Mr Moody was in the right and those opposed to him in the wrong. He came to awaken the worldly from sleep and to help them to feel there was a better life to live, a purer, more noble, and more manly life than some of them were living. Mr Moody's text was Mark i. 15, "Repent ye, and believe the Gospel." Repentance was not simply being convinced of wrong, but following that up by turning right about. If a man was not willing to turn, it was mockery for him to pray, and if a man wanted intercourse with God, he must give up all his sins. Young men thought there was plenty of time. He would like to ask them whether they thought it was a good spirit, or a bad spirit, that got them to defer this matter? He believed it would be to their interest in this life, and the life to come, to repent and turn to God, and why not make up their minds that night? He asked all to join in prayer for the undecided, during which Mr Sankey, in an undertone, sang the hymn "Almost persuaded." Most of those present then left, but many remained to the after-meeting, for consultation and advice.
"There was no falling off in the attendance at the Clarendon on Wednesday evening, but many undergraduates appeared to have come with the express object of making fun of the proceedings. Mr Moody preached from Galatians vi. 7: 'Be not deceived; God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth. that shall he also reap.' He had not proceeded far before it was evident, from the adverse criticisms indulged in in an undertone, that there were many present who were not inclined to give the speaker a fair hearing. Soon there was open laughter, Mr Moody said it was very easy to laugh at these things, but they were fixed and eternal. They would live long enough to see that what he had said was true and that a man had to reap what he sowed. Let them sow good seed, and not tares, and by and by they would have an abundant harvest."
On this third evening there came the turn of the tide, Having set in motion the machinery of the after-meeting, Mr Moody found himself in the midst of a group of young students, most of whom had been among the disturbers on the previous occasions. With that intrepidity and readiness of resource which have so often stood him in good stead, he seized the opportunity, and proceeded in the plainest, though most courteous terms, to tell these young friends what he thought of them and their reprehensible conduct. Addressing them simply as those who, like himself, would lay claim to the title of "gentleman," he said they owed him an ample apology for the treatment he had received at their hands. He had been invited by some of their fellow students to come and speak to them and the least they could have done is give him a respectful hearing. Let them put themselves in his place: would it be possible for any of them, unless they were reading from a manuscript, to preserve the continuity of their thoughts on any particular subject if they were subjected to such rude and unseemly interruptions as those with which they had favoured him? Pursuing this vein of candid remark, Mr Moody soon succeeded in convincing his listeners that they had placed themselves in the wrong and that the only honest course of action open to them was a full confession. They assented to all he said, and readily tendered a verbal apology for having transgressed the rules of common civility. Mr Moody accepted this 'amende honourable' as far as he was concerned, but said he considered they ought to make further reparation by taking prominent seats at the meeting the following evening and listening quietly to his remarks.
The results fully justified Mr Moody's line of action and showed that there is a chord in the most unlikely of human hearts that will respond to a friendly firm and skilful touch. Having thoroughly earned their personal respect by his manly candour and courage and sanctified goud sense, he succeeded in gaining a hearing for the message he had come to deliver. On Thursday evening some of the very worst of these malcontents sat on the front seats and were patterns of attention and good behaviour. There may have been an outside fringe of latent scorn and opposition, but its back was completely broken, as far as outward manifestation was Mr Moody addressed his young brethren with wonderful power on the barriers that oppose themselves to a frank acceptance of the Christian life. Some of those who were present on this occasion describe the scene as being the most marvellous they ever witnessed, taking the circumstances into account. The deep impression made by the preacher's presentation of the truth reached its climax as he closed his address with some of those touching incidents that seem to dissolve the remnants of doubt and distrust in the minds of the hearers, as the summer sun melts the patches of snow that linger in the crevices of the mountain side.
Of the Friday evening meeting we can speak from personal observation. The Clarendon Assembly Room had become far too strait for the growing numbers of undergraduates that attended. This evening the meeting was moved to the town hall, which has a seating capacity, we believe, of 900. The main portion of the Hall was completely filled, the outlying corners only showing vacant seats. It was hardly to be expected that such a congregation would sit through the proceedings as demurely as the frequenters of a Quaker meeting. Here and there a young gownsman in the outskirts of the audience might be seen lounging on a bench with an expression of indolent nonchalance on his countenance, showing that he, like Gallio of old. and "cared for none of these things." Now and again the inherent hilariousness of these young bloods would bubble over at some of Mr Moody's pungent and quaint observations. His numerous "points" were not only caught up with extraordinary quickness of perception, but it sometimes seemed as if their acute and trained intellects anticipated the conclusions at which he was to arrive.
Notwithstanding such incongruous the great throng may be said, with the utmost truthfulness, to have hung on the preacher's lips. A burst of hearty laughter was quickly followed by a stillness that seemed almost painful by the contrast. Mr Moody's sermon was one of remarkable power and adaptation to the conditions of his auditory. His subject was the value of moral courage in a bold confession of Christ before men, and many instances from the Scripture record were adduced to illustrate this. Thus by earnest exhortation and by striking example, he pressed home the vital necessity of taking a bold stand on the side of God and righteousness, if they would serve their day and generation. Having dismissed the first meeting and gathered the large number that remained into a compact body near the platform, Mr Moody, mounting one of the seats, and adopted a more colloquial form of address, resumed talk on " Confessing Christ." Nearly all, he said, whose conversion is recorded in the New Testament were blessed in the act of obedience. We want to get back to the simplicity of the scriptural idea of conversion. Mr Moody quoted the cases of the Apostles, who obeyed without hesitation and without questioning the command or the invitation to follow Christ. "It will be a cross to you to confess Christ tonight, but the best thing to do is take it up. If you ever see the kingdom of God you will have to take up the cross: it will never be easier to take up than now. 'Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him shall the Son of Man confess before the angels of heaven.' Think of Jesus Christ confessing you, and saying, 'This is my disciple. Is there not someone here who is willing to take up his cross and say right out 'I will?'
Mr Moody had not long to wait for the reply he craved. One strong, manly voice, sounding forth the responsive dissyllable gave courage to others, and the stream of "I will's" came thick and fast, while Mr Moody, with choking utterances, interjected such encouraging remarks a "Thank God! I like these ' I will's.' "Young men, you do not know how cheering this is; it is worth a whole lifetime of toil." "This is a joy that fills me full; thank God for giving you the courage to speak out." "Is there not another here who will take a bold stand for Christ?" "Perhaps some of you say, 'Why can't I do it at home?' So you can, but it is a good thing to do it here. I remember the first time I stood up to testify for Christ. My knees smote together, and I trembled from head to foot. My thoughts left me: I spoke a few words and then sat down. But I got such a blessing to my soul that it has followed me till now. It helps a man wonderfully to take a bold stand and let the world - both friends enemies - know that you are on the Lord's side. It is so easy to serve Him after you have taken your stand.", "If a number of you were to come right out for God together, you could change the whole tone of this University. It makes men tremble when they see others coming out and boldly testifying for Jesus." I could stand here all night and hear these 'I will's;'? they are about the sweetest thing one can hear out of heaven."
But the best was yet to follow. Seeing how ready was the field for the sickle, Mr Moody hazarded a further test, though he said he had some hesitation in doing it. He suggested that those sitting in the three front seats should vacate them, and that those who had spoken out should come, and kneeling there, in the sight of man, should dedicate themselves to the Lord. The request was scarcely uttered before some five or six rows of seats were filled with a solid phalanx of prostrate forms. We have seen a good many of Mr Moody's and other evangelistic meetings, but if we can trust our memory, "we have never seen it on this fashion before. The power of God seemed to be present in such degree that these young men, many of them among the cream and flower of the rising intellect of our land, seemed to be swayed at His will like the ripe standing corn before the breeze of heaven. We could but exclaim in our hears "It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes."
The meeting for undergraduates, on Sunday night, was more wonderful still than any that had gone before. There must have been about 1,200 of this important section of the Oxford community gathered in the Corn Exchange to hear Mr Moody and Mr Sankey. It was a most moving sight, and one worth going a long way to see. The general demeanour of the gownsmen throughout the entire proceedings was all that could have been expected from the most devout of congregations. It is true that here and there might be observed a sardonic smile or an ill-concealed expression of scorn, but any pronounced demonstration of aversion or dissent was held in perfect check by the prevailing spirit of the meeting. It was noticeable, too, that some of the few who were occasionally inclined to satirise the words of the speaker at the beginning of his discourse, became visibly softened as he went on. As the power of the truth, most impressively presented as it was, began to tell, their faces assumed a more serious look, and they settled down into the most interested and attentive of listeners.
Mr Moody's sermon on "What think ye of Christ? " was one of singular earnestness and power. In one long and unbroken stream of eloquent speech, he summoned up as witnesses, those whose opinions, either for or against the Son of God, are recorded in the New Testament. Some of his passages were of great pathos, and must surely have deeply touched the most obdurate or unbelieving hearts. He dealt some mighty blows at the modern idea that Christ was a great human teacher and nothing more. For nearly an hour those young literati sat and listened as if chained to their seats—sat, one might almost say, at the feet of Christ, for Mr Moody's talk was "all about Jesus," and his claims to be the Son of God and the Saviour of the world.
A very large proportion of the students remained to the after-meeting, and the scene of Friday night was repeated on a still larger scale, but in a somewhat different form. As a test of their mental and spiritual condition, Mr Moody asked all who had the least desire to become Christians to proceed to a small side gallery, where he would himself meet and talk with them. A stalwart young fellow at once arose and led the way, being quietly and quickly followed by a little crowd, until some 150 of them had taken their places, with the evangelist in the midst. Many more lingered in the area of the Exchange, and we believe with some friendly pressure the number of those who went apart might have been doubled. While Mr Moody was reasoning with those in the gallery, and unfolding to them the truth, there gathered in one of the corners of the hall below a group of Christian students and went workers, from whom went up many a touching and earnest petition that God would give light and peace to those who were in soul anxiety, or create that anxiety where it did not exist. Mr Moody, Lord Radstock, and other friends remained in conversation with the undergraduates till a late hour. We confidently look for great things as the outcome of those wonderful gatherings, the like of which have never been seen or heard of by any living resident in the city.
Space will not permit more than the briefest reference to the other meetings of Sunday last, though they were of sufficient importance to deserve a lengthened report. The early meeting of Christian workers in the Corn Exchange was large and deeply interesting Mr Moody spoke on the need of the Holy Spirit as a Power for Service, and much prayer was made that this Divine Worker might energise all who were present.
At three o'clock the Corn Exchange was crammed with women, who were addressed by Mr Moody; the side gallery was filled with anxious inquirers at the close. At the same hour, Mr E. W. Bliss proclaimed the way of life to a general audience that overflowed the Town hall. Here, too, the after-meeting was large, and of a most hopeful kind. Over thirty rose for prayer at the invitation of Mr Bliss, and remained for personal conversation.
At six o'clock the Corn Exchange was packed with men, to whom Mr Moody preached with rare unction from the text "Where art thou?" His appeals to inconsistent and lifeless professors, to backsliders, and to the unsaved, were so overpowering that we marvelled greatly at the comparatively inadequate results that were apparent in the after-meeting. Simultaneously with this, another crowded overflow meeting was held in the Town hall, presided over by Mr Bliss, assisted by Mr Sankey. The after-meeting was large and very encouraging in its results. Mr Bliss is a most acceptable and forcible speaker and has done good service by his conduct of the overflow meetings, as well as on other occasions. He combines the gift of the preaching evangelist with that of the sweet expressive singer. We hope and believe that his labours in this country will be greatly owned to the conversion of souls.
It need hardly be said that Mr Sankey's share in the services has been of the most important kind. He has almost shown the attribute of ubiquity, having frequently to sing at two and sometimes three meetings proceeding at the same hour. His peerless voice has stood the severe strain remarkably well and preserves its unique power to sway these mighty gatherings of immortal souls. His singing of the old favourites, such as "The ninety and nine," "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by," "Almost persuaded." &c., continues to move the multitude as wondrously as of yore, while many of the more recent songs and Solos receive a fresh and more powerful interpretation as condensed and concentrated "sermons in song."
The evangelists have been fortunate at Oxford in having the hearty assistance of such local friends as the Revs A. M. W. Price Hughes, J. F. Christopher, H. Chavasse, R. Horton, and others, while goodly number of efficient workers from London and elsewhere have rendered valuable aid in the inquiry-room.
(FROM A UNIVERSITY CORRESPONDENT.)
Everyone said it would be a failure: everyone, that is, who passes for being wise and experienced in University ways. "Oxford men," said the Don, critically," are only touched by the presentation of clear ideas, or by the force of personal character." But the well-informed critic did not consider that some very clear ideas might be presented by an American evangelist who has not had a university education, and that even in such an earthy vessel the most perfect of all characters might be most forcibly brought home to the sympathies of young and ardent minds. The truth was, the Don was thinking of Mr Moody, but Mr Moody was thinking of Christ.
Now we will make our way on Monday evening, November 12, at 8.30, to the Clarendon Rooms. Mr Sankey is singing to a somewhat quizzical audience. There is the man well known in the High-street, and in worse places, whose manners are not equal to the task of keeping his face from a contemptuous smile. There is the intellectual scholar, who is inclined to Agnosticism. There are, too, let us thank God, not a few as earnest spirits as you would find in any age or any society. The room is half fall; there are about 200 of the University men present. Mr Moody has to speak amidst the constant titterings and whisperings of the 'bons esprits.' It is a hard struggle, and even his brave spirit seems a little cowed. That night little more is done than to bring out a considerable number of Christian men who will help in the singing tomorrow.
On Tuesday it is different. At the close of the meeting, the speaker asks those who wish to be Christians to express their willingness, There is a pause, then a faint "I will"; then another, then another, and another, These men are very much in earnest; they know that the sneer of "mood-ing" will probably be muttered against them in Hall next night, and that possibly the men of 'light and leading' in the college will 'cut' them. But the simple presentation of the clear idea, "will you or will you not take Christ?" and the dawning sense of the presence of that perfect Saviour - the two have broken down even Oxford reserve.
On Wednesday we seem worse off than ever. After speaking to a larger but much more impatient audience, Mr Moody finds in the inquiry: room itself some deliberate disturbers, men well known in the sports of the University, who include in their sports the sport at all things divine. He bears down upon them personally. He carries one famous cricketer into a corner, and there makes him for once in his life realise that "God is not mocked: whatsoever a man sows that shall he also reap.'
But now what can Mr Moody have been doing to the men? On Thursday the room rapidly fills with undergraduates; the disturbers of last night come in and take a foremost place in the room, quietly, and even reverently. The sea of intelligent faces is turned towards the speaker, and he preaches to them on "making excuses." There is no attempt at critical or philosophical argument; but plain, straightforward, shrewd and sometimes very humorous common sense. But that is not all. Again and again, the audience is electrified and solemnised as the bare clear truth flashes upon them. No spun-out manuscript sermon from decorous, surpliced preacher in a distant pulpit, but here a man, a very honest and earnest man, face to face with them, searching them with his glance, pointing at them personally, unveiling their hearts to them in a way that is strange because it is new. At the end, Mr Moody says: "I'm much obliged to you men for giving me a hearing: there's thirty or forty of you here who promised me you'd come tonight and listen fair, and you've done it. I'm much obliged." There is a dead silence. Several heads are hung down in shame. But then forty or fifty follow Mr Moody to the inquiry room, and of these, a large proportion do very boldly and simply give themselves to Christ.
But now, Friday night, the Clarendon Rooms are too small, and the Town hall is nearly filled with a University audience. Rev R. B. Girdlestone presides, as he has done each night. Several well-known "Dons" are on the platform. Mr Moody urges on the men the duty of confession, and at the close nearly forty men publicly come forward and kneel at the forms in front, and many of them rise from their knees feeling that this is the beginning of a new life to them.
And so, what "everyone" said didn't come true at all. The scheme was not a failure. why? because God has said that He "hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise." These great things have been done not in the "college fanes" by
"The noise their high-built organs make, Which with thunder-rolling music shake
The prophets blazoned on the panes,"
but in the most secular of rooms, with an American harmonium and the simplest of hymns. The preacher was not a Dean nor a Provost, a Warden or a Master, but a simple. earnest man who is showing to a half-sceptical and half-astonished world, what wonders can be wrought by "one life wholly consecrated to God." This has been a memorable week for Oxford.
"The Christian," 28th November 1882
".. .Subsequently Mr Moody addressed the meeting, over which, by this time, had fallen a hush, in sharp contrast with the feeling manifested at the commencement.
During the relation of some of his anecdotes, Mr Moody was visibly affected; tears were in his eyes and his voice, and there were now few dry eyes in the meeting. In concluding, he slowly and painfully - for his emotion increased as he neared the word farewell - began to bid his hearers adieu. Two of the happiest weeks of his life, he said, were those he had spent in Cambridge and Oxford - especially among the undergraduates, for he realised the infinite possibilities that lay in their lives. He charged them to consecrate themselves to the service of the Master, to seek, as he was seeking. for the souls of men, to have good courage, knowing in whose hands they were. Let them begin in their colleges. There was not an undergraduate there who had begun the Christian course who ought not to be good for a dozen of his fellows right away. If they only trusted God, He would never fail them, but stand by their side and bring them off victors at last. Mr Moody then, in broken accents, prayed for all in the most pathetic and touching way, and one could not but recall to mind the parting of the Ephesian Church on the seashore with the great Apostle of the Gentiles. Nothing could have been finer than the rendering of the closing hymn, 'Stand up, stand up for Jesus,' led by Mr Sankey: and afterwards, many of those present followed Mr Moody up to the gallery; where an inquirers meeting was held, and all bade Messrs Moody and Sankey an affectionate farewell."
In a short editorial, the same journal says:
"An event of curious note has occurred in Oxford. The well-known Evangelists, Messrs Moody and Sankey have visited the town and held evangelistic services in the Town Hall and the Corn Exchange. The traditions of Oxford and the prejudices of the higher class of Undergraduates would naturally be against such unauthorised methods of preaching the Gospel, while that dread of excessive excitement in religion which is often characteristic of refined natures would make men hang back from participation in the movement. A certain section of the clergy, however, gave them a warm welcome, and when the character of the addresses was examined, the most prejudiced person was agreeably surprised. Their power - the way in which they wrought on their audience - was due to their intense simplicity, and to their marvellously close adherence to Holy Writ. The spirit as well as the language of the Bible ran through all the addresses, while the hymns, which Mr Sankey sang so beautifully, were moulded of the very words of Scripture. And so vast audiences of working men, or the narrower circle of Undergraduates, were alike deeply impressed - some turned from darkness to light.vIt is a remarkable thing to be simple, and yet impressive; to say what people have frequently heard before, and yet to say it in such a way that it brings conviction to the hearts of the audience."
"The Christian," 30th November 1882.
This is a very descriptive account of the personal experience of a first-year student, A C Benson, who was the son of the Archbishop of Canterbury and who went on to become a famous essayist and poet.
"Our host carelessly said that a great Revivalist was to address a meeting that night. Someone suggested that we should go. I laughingly assented. The meeting was held in a hall in a side street; we went smiling and talking and took our places in a crowded room. . . . Then the preacher himself — a heavy-looking, commonplace man, with a sturdy figure and no grace of look or gesture — stepped forward. I have no recollection how he began, but he had not spoken half a dozen sentences before I felt as though he and I were alone in the world. The details of that speech have gone from me. After a scathing and indignant lecture on sin, he turned to drawing a picture of the hollow, drifting life, with feeble, mundane ambitions — utterly selfish, giving no service, making no sacrifice, tasting the moment, gliding feebly down the stream of time to the roaring cataract of death. Every word he said burnt into my soul. He seemed to probe the secret of my innermost heart; to be analysing, as it were, before the Judge of the world, the arid and pitiful constituents of my most secret thought. I did not think I could have heard him out — his words fell on me like the stabs of a knife. Then he made a sudden pause, and in a pervasion of incredible dignity and pathos he drew us to the feet of the crucified Saviour, showed us the bleeding hand and dimmed eye, and the infinite heart behind. "Just accept Him," he cried, "in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, you may be His — nestling in His arms — with the burden of sin and selfishness resting at His feet.” Even as he spoke, pierced as I was to the heart by contrition and anguish, I knew that this was not for me — He invited all who would be Christians to wait and plead with him. Many men — even, I was surprised to see, a careless, cynical companion of my own — crowded to the platform, but I went out into the night, like one dizzied with a sudden blow. I was joined, I remember, by a tutor of my college, who praised the eloquence of the address, and was surprised to find me so little, responsive; but my only idea was to escape and be alone. I felt like a wounded creature, who must crawl into solitude.
(I find it difficult to understand how he could reject the offer of Christ after feeling the way he did. Perhaps it was the influence of his father or intellectualism, who knows? I cannot find out if he accepted Jesus later in life, but I suspect not because he went on to write many horror stories. All I can find is someone saying that in one of hos books he wrote that Moody made religion real to him.)
"D L Moody," by William R Moody, 1930