The one who knows our deepest needs, Recks little how man counts his beads, For Righteousness is not in creeds, Or solemn faces; But rather lies in kindly deeds, And Christian graces, Then never fear; wi’ purpose leal,[I] A head to think, a heart to feel For human woe and human weal, Na preachin’ loun[J] Your sacred birthright e’er can steal To Heaven aboon. Tak’[K] tent o’ truth, and heed this well: The man who sins makes his ain hell; There’s na waurse de’il than himsel’; But God is strongest: And when puir human hearts rebel, He haulds out longest. With loving kindness will he wait, Till all the prodigals o’ fate Return unto their fair estate, And blessings mony; Nor will he shut the gowden gate Of Heaven on ony. RESURREXI. “A REMARKABLE POEM.--The following striking poem was recited by Miss Lizzie Doten, a Spiritual trance-speaker, at the close of a recent lecture in Boston. She professed to give it impromptu, as far as she was concerned, and to speak under the direct influence of Edgar A. Poe. Whatever may be the truth about its production, the poem is, in several respects, a remarkable one. Miss Doten is, apparently, incapable of originating such a poem. If it was written for her by some one else, and merely committed to memory and recited by her, the poem is, nevertheless, wonderful as a reproduction of the singular music and alliteration of Poe’s style, and as manifesting the same intensity of feeling. Whoever wrote the poem must have been exceedingly familiar with Poe, and deeply in sympathy with his spirit. But if Miss Doten is honest, and the poem originated as she said it did, it is unquestionably the most astonishing thing that Spiritualism has produced. It does not follow, necessarily, in that case, that Poe himself made the poem,--although we are asked to believe a great many spiritual things on less cogent evidence,--but it is, in any view of it that may be taken, a very singular and mysterious production. There is, in the second verse, an allusion to a previous poem that purported to come from the spirit of Poe, which was published several years since, and attracted much attention, but the following poem is of a higher order, and much more like Poe than the other.”--_Springfield Republican._ From the throne of Life Eternal, From the home of love supernal, Where the angel feet make music over all the starry floor-- Mortals, I have come to meet you, Come with words of peace to greet you, And to tell you of the glory that is mine forevermore.