It is Tennyson's “In Memoriam” to which he refers, and from which he quotes four verses, of which this is the last:
“Behold! we know not anything
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last,—far off,—at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.”
If some are disposed to think that the progress of civilization and the rapidly growing change of opinion renders unnecessary any further effort to humanize “the Gospel of dread tidings;” if any believe the doctrines of the Longer and Shorter Catechism of the Westminster divines are so far obsolete as to require no further handling; if there are any who thank these subjects have lost their interest for living souls ever since they themselves have learned to stay at home on Sundays, with their cakes and ale instead of going to meeting,—not such is Mr. Whittier's opinion, as we may infer from his recent beautiful poem, “The Minister's Daughter.” It is not science alone that the old Christian pessimism has got to struggle with, but the instincts of childhood, the affections of maternity, the intuitions of poets, the contagious humanity of the philanthropist,—in short, human nature and the advance of civilization. The pulpit has long helped the world, and is still one of the chief defences against the dangers that threaten society, and it is worthy now, as it always has been in its best representation, of all love and honor. But many of its professed creeds imperatively demand revision, and the pews which call for it must be listened to, or the preacher will by and by find himself speaking to a congregation of bodiless echoes by and by find himself speaking to a congregation of bodiless echoes.