The guardian stars above the trees their loving vigil keep; The cricket sings her lullaby, the whippoorwill his cheer. The father knows his Father's arms are round them as they sleep; The mother knows that in His arms her darling need not fear. "Home, home, my baby's home is here; With God we seek, with God we find the place for baby's rest. Hist, my child, list, my child; angels guard us here. The God of heaven is here to make and keep my birdie's nest. Home, home, here's my baby's home!"
Among the converts made by Mrs. Hutchinson during her stay in Boston was John Underhill, commander of the colony's troops. He became involved in the controversy that followed, and as a result was disarmed, disfranchised, and finally banished. In September, 1638, he betook himself to Cocheco (Dover), on the Piscataqua, where some of Mrs. Hutchinson's adherents had started a settlement, and where he afterwards held various offices.
A score of years had come and gone Since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth stone, When Captain Underhill, bearing scars From Indian ambush and Flemish wars, Left three-hilled Boston and wandered down, East by north, to Cocheco town.
With Vane the younger, in council sweet, He had sat at Anna Hutchinson's feet, And, when the bolt of banishment fell On the head of his saintly oracle, He had shared her ill as her good report, And braved the wrath of the General Court.
He shook from his feet as he rode away The dust of the Massachusetts Bay. The world might bless and the world might ban, What did it matter the perfect man, To whom the freedom of earth was given, Proof against sin, and sure of heaven?
He cheered his heart as he rode along With screed of Scripture and holy song, Or thought how he rode with his lances free By the Lower Rhine and the Zuyder-Zee, Till his wood-path grew to a trodden road, And Hilton Point in the distance showed.
He saw the church with the block-house nigh, The two fair rivers, the flakes thereby, And, tacking to windward, low and crank, The little shallop from Strawberry Bank; And he rose in his stirrups and looked abroad Over land and water, and praised the Lord.
Goodly and stately and grave to see, Into the clearing's space rode he, With the sun on the hilt of his sword in sheath, And his silver buckles and spurs beneath, And the settlers welcomed him, one and all, From swift Quampeagan to Gonic Fall.