To the world, Friday, December 22, 1899, was the shortest day of the year, but for D. L. Moody its dawn ushered in that day that knows no night. For forty-six years he had been a worker together with God, and the transition from the seen world to the unseen, from the sphere of the temporal to that of the eternal, was no interruption in the life with which his friends were familiar. For nearly half a century he had striven to do God’s will, and when God called he responded with readiness. All through the night of December 21 he was restless. About six o’clock he became quiet and fell into a natural sleep. He awoke in about an hour. Suddenly he was heard speaking in slow and measured words. He was saying, “Earth recedes; heaven opens before me.” The first impulse was to try to arouse him from what appeared to be a dream. To his son he said, “No, this is no dream, Will. It is beautiful! It is like a trance! If this is death, it is sweet! There is no valley here! God is calling me, and I must go!” What a contrast to the closing scenes of the life of Robert G. Ingersoll. Mr. Ingersoll died in 1899. On the occasion of Mr. Ingersoll’s death Mr. Moody said: “How dark must be the life of a man for whom, by his own confession, it was like a narrow vale
between the peaks of two eternities; we cry aloud and the only answer is the echo of our calling, and for whom death seemed like ‘a leap into the dark.’ “When asked if he thought Mr. Ingersoll had died without hope of the future, Mr. Moody replied, “I don’t know. I don’t see how a man can live without such a hope. It must be terrible. We are not his judges. It is for God alone to judge him.” Let us return to the closing scenes of Mr. Moody’s life. Those watching by his bedside felt that his end was near. The friends were summoned. Mr. Moody continued to talk quietly and seemed to speak from another world. His message to the loved ones he was leaving was: “I have always been an ambitious man; ambitious to leave no wealth or possessions, but to leave lots of work for you to do. Will, you will carry on Mount Hermon. Paul will take up the Seminary, when he is older. Fitt will look after the Institute, and Ambert (his nephew) will help you in the business details.”
Then it seemed he saw beyond the veil, for he exclaimed, “This is my triumph; this is my coronation day! I have been looking forward to it for years.” Then his face lit up, and he said with a voice of joyful rapture: “Dwight! Irene! I see the children’s faces” (grandchildren who had preceded him to the glory world). Then as he thought he was losing consciousness, he said, “Give my love to them all.” Turning to his wife, he exclaimed, “Mama, you have been a good wife to me!” and with that he became unconscious. Heart stimulants were administered and he revived. Suddenly raising himself on his elbow he exclaimed, “What does all this mean? What are you all doing here?” He was told that he had not been well, and immediately it all seemed to be clear to him, and he said:
“This is a strange thing. I have been beyond the gates of death and to the very portals of heaven, and here I am back again. It is very strange.” To the plea of his daughter that he should not leave them, he said, “I’m not going to throw my life away. I’ll stay as long as I can, but if my time is come, I’m ready.” To the very last he was thinking of those about him and considering them. Turning to his wife, only a little while before he passed away, he said, “This is hard on you, Mother, and I’m sorry to distress you in this way. It is hard to be kept in such anxiety.” Upon the doctors last approach to administer a hypodermic injection he looked at him in a questioning and undecided way, and said in a perfectly natural voice, “Doctor, I don’t know about this. Do you think it best? It is only keeping the family in anxiety.” In a few moments he had another sinking spell and from it he awoke in the presence of Him whom he had loved and served so long and devotedly. One who was present says, “It was not like death, for he ‘fell on sleep,’ quietly and peacefully.” Thus D. L. Moody, who as he had said, “was born of the flesh in 1837; born of the Spirit in 1856,” passed to his great reward from Northfield, Mass., on December 22, 1899. On December 26, 1899 his body was laid to rest on “Round Top.” Those who remained studiously observed Mr. Moody’s wishes with respect to any outward show of emblems of mourning. About the home everything was, apparently, as usual. There was no crape on the door, and the window blinds were all open. In the deathchamber where he lay “asleep in Jesus” there was only a sense of quiet repose in the loved form, and one who was there says, “Looking upon him as he lay upon the couch, one would have
thought that he was taking one of those short naps with which he was accustomed to refresh himself before conducting a service.” Four months before, Mr. Moody had planned the funeral service for his grandchild, Irene. “Just this once let me have my own way,” he had pleaded, and everyone had gladly fallen in with his simple arrangements. As the family and friends followed the white casket, borne on a bier by twelve Mount Hermon students, the special friends of the little one, Mr. Moody had remarked to his son, “That is just as I would want it. No hearse and no mourning, but just let Mount Hermon boys bear me to my resting-place.”