In one of Mr. Moody's meetings a man once raised his hand for prayer. The evangelist went to him and said, "I am glad you have decided to be a Christian."
"No," said the man, "I have not; but you pray for me, and I will later on."
His address was taken, and Mr. Moody visited him when, later, he was ill. Again he pressed him for a decision for Christ.
"No," said the man; "I will not decide now. People will only say I was frightened into receiving Christ while. I'm sick."
He recovered; but ere long he suffered a severe relapse. Mr. Moody visited him again and put his need of Christ before him.
"It is too late," he said.
"But," Mr. Moody replied, "there is mercy at the eleventh hour."
"Mr. Moody," the sick man answered, "this is not the eleventh hour; it is the twelfth." A few hours later he was dead.
Mr. Moody said: "We fear we wrapped him in a Christ-less shroud, put him in a Christ-less coffin, buried him in a Christ-less grave; and if this be so, he went to a Christ-less eternity."
"He, that being often reproved hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy."