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“Some day you will read in the papers that D. L. Moody, of East Northfield, is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it! At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now. I shall have gone up higher, that is all; gone out of this old clay tenement into a house that is immortal, a body that death cannot touch, that sin cannot taint, a body like unto His own glorious body. I was born of the flesh in 1837. I was born of the Spirit in 1856. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit will live forever.”
Those are the words of D. L. Moody—his autobiography compressed
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“Some day you will read in the papers that D. L. Moody, of East Northfield, is dead. Don’t you believe a word of it! At that moment I shall be more alive than I am now. I shall have gone up higher, that is all; gone out of this old clay tenement into a house that is immortal, a body that death cannot touch, that sin cannot taint, a body like unto His own glorious body. I was born of the flesh in 1837. I was born of the Spirit in 1856. That which is born of the flesh may die. That which is born of the Spirit will live forever.”

Those are the words of D. L. Moody—his autobiography compressed into a few sentences. Between his birth in the flesh on February 5, 1837, and his departure to be with Christ on December 22, 1899, there were crowded more, and more varied, experiences than fall to the general lot of men; and he firmly believed to the last that the opening portals of heaven would only admit him to larger and truer service for his God and Savior in unseen worlds.