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| The Touch of the Master's Hand |
| 'Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought it scarcely worth his while To waste much time on the old violin, but he held it up with a smile. "What am I bidden, good folk?" He cried "who'll start the bidding for me? A dollar, a dollar - now two, only two - two dollars, and who'll make it three? Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three" - but no!! From the room far back a gray-haired man came froward and picked up the bow; Then wiping the dust from the old violin and tightening up all the strings, He played a melody pure and sweet; as sweet as an angel sings. The music ceased, and the auctioneer, with a voice that was quiet and low, "What am I bid for the old violin?" and he held it up with the bow. A thousand dollars - and who'll make it two? Two thousand - and who'll make it three? Three thousand once and three thousand twice - and going and gone!" said he. The people cheered, but some of them cried, "We do not quite understand - What changed it's worth?" The man replied: "The touch of the master's hand!" And many a man with life out of tune and battered and torn with sin, Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd, much like the old violin. A "mess of pottage", a glass of wine, a game - and he travels on. He's going once - and going twice, he's going - and almost gone! But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd never can quite understand The worth of a soul and the change that's wrought, by the touch of the Master's hand! |
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| by Myra Brooks Welch |