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.” Do I believe in laughter as much as ever I did? A great deal more than ever I did, even in the days that were ripples of dimples on the sunlit eddies of a river of laughter. How could life be best lived without it--God’s exclusive gift to his human children? Laughter is a good servant. But don’t overwork him or he will sulk, and maybe strike for shorter hours. Don’t smile so much all day that the corners of your mouth droop with weariness when you come home at night. “Always leave them with a laugh” is the axiom of a commercial traveler who has no home. Laughter is cheery, good-natured, willing, but wearies easily. He is a poor hand at “day’s work” and tires at a continuous job. He is a thoroughbred, and must be humored and well groomed. You can’t work him like a plow-horse. He shines most brightly at “piece work.” He must needs have intervals of quiet meditation; sober reflection; tranquil introspection. He must have the inspiration of earnest purpose; the repose of a little minute of prayer. Don’t mistake the ever-lasting barnyard cackle that emanates from between the roof of the mouth and the glottis for Laughter. Unless there is brain and heart--intellect and love in it--it isn’t the laughter that I know anything about. The thing on the face of a skull is a grin, but it isn’t a smile. It used to be, but the smile died when it became perpetual. No matter what the empty-headed philosophers say on the postcards, don’t try to smile all the time. Unless you want people to hate the sight of you.