Well, I have always loved to work. It has been pleasant in the old mill, with its rafters bronzing by the years, its shadowy corners, its far views from the dormers up in the loft, the mysterious gurglings and murmurings of hidden waters down deep among the foundations, the quiet pond and the earnest rush of the race, and the merry laughter of the “tail race.” For I ground my finest flour from the grist the people brought me. The best of my work might have been done much better; the worst of it had better been left undone; all of it has been mediocre. But I ground the grist that was brought me, and took only fair toll. And some day, in a better mill, with improved machinery, with finer material, with choicer grist, a steadier power and a better light I will do better work.
A good father and a good mother—“old-fashioned?” Well, yes; about as old-fashioned as fathers and mothers have been ever since the birth of Cain—taught me from a Good Book that the way of life and the plan of salvation is so simple and plain that not even the philosophers could muddle it—“He hath showed thee, O man, what is good, and what doth the Lord require of thee but to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with God.” That’s plain enough until some learned man begins to explain it. If that’s all that God wants of me, I don’t care what the “Apostle’s Creed,” of the “Thirty-nine Articles,” or the “Confession of Faith” demands of me. But that seems to include about everything. And yet I believe in “creeds.” How can a man live without a standard?
I never worry about the Day of Judgment. That there will be one I am positive. That it will be as dreadful as John of Patmos describes, I believe. But terrible as it will be to have all one’s sins uncovered and set before God and the world, naked and in the light of day, that won’t be one-half so terrible as it was to have committed them. And yet that we rather enjoyed. And another most dreadful thing about the Day of Judgment is the fact that somebody knows all about our sins now. There never was a “secret sin” since the serpent invaded Eden. There have been at least three living eye-witnesses to every offense—the sinner, the victim, who is frequently only the other sinner, and the Judge who is going to try you both. The best time to get scared about the Day of Judgement is about ten minutes before you make a fool of yourself.
Life has been to me a pilgrimage of joy. I’ve never had very much trouble, and what I have had has been of my own making and selection, and when I went to the hospital I took my medicine without making faces or asking for “sympathy.” I was ashamed to. Like “Peter and the Pain Killer,” I knew I was only getting what I had asked for. But up one hill and down the other the pilgrimage had lain through pleasant places—good roads, safe trails, fine pasturage, sweet water and beautiful camping places. A few giants, mostly windmills; millions of midgets and mosquitoes, troublesome but not fatal; occasionally a mean man, so ashamed of himself that he lied about it; now and then a liar; once in a while a hold-up man, with a subscription paper; and all along the way a horde of beggars. But in the main good people; kind-hearted, generous people, honest people. Lots of houses build close “by the side of the road.” The world is full of friendly people for friendly men. And I’m fond of people. I believe in them. I love them. I sympathize with them. I like to meet them, and to walk with them, and to have them about me, so long as they can stand me.
A young disciple one day asked me, when I was pastor of the Temple, “Pastor, how can I learn to trust God? How can I acquire faith?” And I said, “That is easy and simple. Just lie down at night and go to sleep. You are helpless and defenseless as a dead person. You do not see the storm gathering above your home, with black destruction in its whirling wings. You cannot see the tiny tongue of flame catching at the corner of the room in which you sleep. You do not hear the robber stealthily unfastening the fancied security of lock and bolt. You know absolutely nothing of the score of evils that may be threatening your peace and safety. The night may be ghastly with perils all about you. But you sleep sweetly, safely, and you awake in the morning refreshed and strengthened. Protecting love has enfolded you like a garment. And you believed it would when you lay down, else you never could have gone to sleep. Well, that’s trust. That’s perfect trust. Just hold on to it while you are awake. Who takes care of you while you sleep? Not father and mother. Not the servants. Nor the watchdog. Nor the policeman a mile away. ‘Except the Lord keep the city, the watchmen waketh but in vain.’ You trust in God, that’s all.”