it move to the mere cry of "Progress!" its followers are content. To-
day, in the hands of the skeptical philosopher, it assaults the
heavens. Tomorrow it may: float over the mire of Mormonism, or
depths still more vile. It was under the flag of progress that, in the
legislative halls of France, the name of the Holy Lord God of Hosts,
"who inhabiteth eternity," was legally blasphemed. It was under the
flag of progress that, on the 10th of November, 1793, Therese
Momoro, Goddess of Reason, and wife of the printer Momoro, was
borne in triumph, by throngs of worshipers, through the streets of
Paris, and enthroned in the house of God.

Beyond all doubt, there is now, as there ever has been, an onward
progress toward truth on earth. But that true progress is seldom
rapid, excepting perhaps in the final stages of some particular
movement. It is, indeed, often so slow, so gradual, as to be
imperceptible at the moment to common observation. It is often
silent, wonderful, mysterious, sublime. It is the grand movement
toward the Divine Will, working out all things for eventual good. In
looking back, there are for every generation way-marks by which the
course of that progress may be traced. In looking forward no mortal
eye can foresee its immediate course. The ultimate end we know,
but the next step we can not foretell. The mere temporary cry of
progress from human lips has often been raised in direct opposition
to the true course of that grand, mysterious movement. It is like the
roar of the rapids in the midst of the majestic stream, which, in the
end, shall yield their own foaming waters to the calm current moving
onward to the sea. We ask, then, for something higher, safer, more
sure, to guide us than the mere popular cry of "Progress!" We dare
not blindly follow that cry, nor yield thoughtless allegiance to every
flag it upholds.