The Touch Of The Master's Hand
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'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 folks'" he cried'
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
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 foreward and picked up the bow:
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening all the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As the carolling angles sing.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "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, three thousand twice
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We don't quite understand...what changed its worth."
Swift came the reply: "The Touch Of The Master's Hand."
Now many a man with his life out of tune,
Battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine;
A game... and he travels on.
He is 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 is wrought
By The Touch Of The Master's Hand.
Myra Brookes Welch
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