Therefore, if loving Germany as I did, and with only the most enchanting memories of her, I had not immediately permitted the American spirit to assert itself last August and taken a hostile and definite stand against the German idea (which includes, by the way, the permanent subjection of woman) I should have been a traitor, for I knew out of the menace I had felt to my own future, as bound up with an assured development under insidious influences, what the future of my country, which stands for the only true progress in the world today, and a far higher ideal of mortal happiness than the most benevolent paternalism can bestow, had in store for it, with Germany victorious, and America (always profoundly moved by success owing to her very practicality) disturbed, but compelled to admire. The Germans living here, destitute as their race seems to be of psychology when it comes to judging other races, must know all this; so I say that they are traitors if they have taken the oath of allegiance to the United States. If they have not, and dream of returning one day to the fatherland, then I have nothing to say, for there is no better motto for any man than: "My country, right or wrong." "Gott Mit Uns" By C. HUNTINGTON JACOBS [Harvard Prize Poem] Professor Kuno Meyer, of the University of Berlin, resigned his incumbency as Visiting Professor at Harvard University during the next season because of this poem, which was printed in _The Harvard Advocate_ of April 9th, last, and won the prize in a competition for poems on the war conducted by that publication. This announcement of it appeared editorially: "Dean Briggs and Professor Bliss Perry, the judges of the _Advocate_ war poem prize competition, have awarded the prize to C. Huntington Jacobs, 1916." No doubt _ye_ are the people: Wisdom's flame Springs from _your_ cannon--yea from yours alone. God needs _your_ dripping lance to prop His throne; _Your_ gleeful torch His glory to proclaim. No doubt _ye_ are the people: far from shame Your Captains who deface the sculptured stone Which by the labor and the blood and bone Of pious millions calls upon His name. No doubt _ye_ are the folk; and 'tis to prove Your wardenship of Virtue and of Lore Ye sacrifice the Truth in reeking gore Upon your altar to the Prince of Love. Yet still cry we who still in darkness plod: "'Tis Antichrist ye serve and not our God!" On the Psychology of Neutrals By Friedrich Curtius